Chapter 1
Poppy
SAGE SCENTS THE WARM AIR as smoke twines in little gray tendrils from the incense stick burning in a gleaming brass holder on Professor Silvermoon’s desk. I balance a bin of clean teacups against my hip as I move from desk to desk, setting one cup at each chair. Professor Silvermoon is starting a tasseography unit with her second-year class, and as her student assistant, this is my block of time to assist her with whatever she might need.
I’ve just set out the last teacup when the classroom door opens, and Professor Silvermoon comes breezing in, the smell of lilac trailing after her as she sweeps across the room.
“I did it,” she announces, then thumps a big worn journal down onto her desk.
Turning to face her, I tip my head. “Didwhat, Professor?”
Her pink lips curl up in the corners, reminding me of a cat. “I convinced Headmistress Moonhart to let me host the ball.”
The ball. Of course. As soon as the semester started, Professor Silvermoon started talking about wanting to throw a ball to celebrate the rare blue moon this winter. As I’ve come to expect from her after having known her for two academic years, she didn’t give up easily—not even after the headmistress initially shot the idea down, saying the students need to focus on their academics and not a dance. But after more planning and meetings, it seems Professor Silvermoon has finally worn the headmistress down. And she looks properly pleased about it.
“That’s fantastic,” I say, moving toward the back of the classroom to put the bin away in a low cupboard. “Which tea leaves do you want to use for today’s class?”
“The black,” Professor Silvermoon says.
I nod and reach to pull the big glass jar of black tea from a high shelf. As I pop the lid off and reach for a teaspoon to start measuring out leaves into each cup, Professor Silvermoon says, “And I’d likeyouto help me plan it.”
A wave of cold washes over me. I accidentally put two scoops of tea into one cup and have to dump it and start over. “Wh-what?”
“Well, you’re my student assistant, right?”
When I look up from my now-shaky hand still holding the teaspoon, I find Professor Silvermoon leaning against her desk, head tipped to one side, moonlight-silver hair cascading in waves past her elbows.
“Well, yes,but—”
“And who better to help plan a student dance than a student? Especially a dance honoring the moon. As a dream witch, you understand lunar significance more than most.”
There’s a light tapping on the window, and we both glance over to see Gwynn, Professor Silvermoon’s snowy owl spirit companion, waiting on the windowsill. Professor Silvermoon crosses the room in a whisper of skirts and lilac and pops the window open so the owl can float in.
“Hi, Gwynn,” I say as she alights onto her perch near Professor Silvermoon’s desk. In response, she ruffles her feathers and rumbles out a warm greeting to me.
I’m already a third-year, and I still haven’t met my spirit companion. Some witches meet theirs early, others later. A few never do. But I try not to think about it too much. Like most things, I trust it’ll happen when the time is right.
The open window lets in a cool late-summer breeze, making the candles around the room dance and flicker and sending the incense smoke whirling around in a different direction.
Professor Silvermoon turns to face me, her expression softening. “If you don’t want to help plan the dance, I’ll understand. Party planning certainly isn’t part of your academic curriculum. But”—her dark blue eyes meet mine, twinkling in the light—“I think it would be a good opportunity for you. After all, you never know what’s behind a door until you open it.”
Her lips pull up on one side.
And I know that look.
It means she knows something she’s not telling me, something she might not ever tell me.
As our divination professor, Selene Silvermoon is gifted in many arts—tasseography, chiromancy, tarot, pyromancy, astrology, and probably many more methods of divination that I’m not even aware of. And naturally, she often knows things before they happen, or can predict outcomes simply by interpreting the movement of flames or watching how feathers fall or staring at the faces of stones.
And if she thinks planning this ball will be good for me, I’m inclined to believe her. Even if the idea makes my palms go sweaty and my throat want to close up.
“I—” I hesitate, my mind already spinning with worst-case scenarios: standing in front of the headmistress with parchment quaking in my hands, presenting ideas to the academy’s board of professors, everyone’s eyes on me if something goes wrong or I get tongue-tied and forget how to speak. “Could I maybe work more behind the scenes? Like, organizing things and making lists and coordinating, but not necessarily... being the face of it all?”
Professor Silvermoon’s smile widens, like I’ve said exactly what she hoped I would. I’m not sure anything can surprise her. “Of course. I’ll handle all the meetings and red tape. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. Lists and organization are my specialty.ThatI can do.
“O-okay,” I say, attempting to give her a smile, though my lips try to resist it. “I’ll help you plan it.”
