Reciting such a basic rule, as if I was a grade schooler, was not my idea of testing the results of my special “witchcraft lessons”. Set spells were, for the most part, old, written in Latin, and proved to be efficient. Every witch knew that much. I sometimes wondered if this oral test wasn’t some kind of late punishment for my blowing-up-a-tree episode. With the ten days I had taken off school, I was able to learn a bunch of set spells other than the rudimentary ones. And most importantly, I was able to fully commit to my training.
Controlling my newly found ability was no easy feat but I at least had gotten to the point where I wouldn’t activate it by mistake. I had no intention of going through a trial like the one I had witnessed. I had also no desire to make my dad volunteer into an assassination squad formed especially for me. No mistakes were allowed. No innocents – human and supernatural beings alike – were to fall victims to my anger outbursts.
Controlling the exact where of the explosion and its intensity was something I had yet to learn. No surprise there because it could take months or even years to complete that step. And since this was no war era, there was no real rush. I could take my time and master it to perfection.
I answered all my dad’s questions accurately and was rewarded with a satisfied smile.
“Now, do you realize how greenhorn-ish it was of you to blow up that tree?” He demanded with a raised eyebrow from where he sat at the kitchen table.
Now, that was a low blow.
I left the wall I had been leaning against and replied in a sincerely apologetic tone, “I couldn’t help it then, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“Yeah, let’s hope you won’t,” was his somewhat clipped response.
I only realized he had thrown water at me when it hit my face.
“What the hell, dad?” I shrieked, the cold life essence making me shiver. My hair was almost instantly soaked. My face was soon dripping, and my clothed shoulders were gathering the remaining water.
“What’s the matter?” His tone was that of an innocent witness whose only fault was to have been present at the scene.
“You know what!” I really hated it when people played innocent.
What was wrong with him? What was he thinking?
No words were uttered for about twenty seconds, but when he spoke, from where he was still sitting, it was not what I was expecting, “What I do know is that your fear of werewolves, albeit justified, has to be overcome.”
“I...” I was taken aback by the change of topic, and got a case of frozen blood and slow thinking, “I’m trying, I’m trying.”
“You have to try harder,” he sighed, rising to his feet, “according to Jonathan, your fear could be smelt from miles away at the trial.”
“But I...”
“And that was before Blake The Troublemaker had even introduced himself,” he finished, putting emphasis on before.
“I wasn’t that scared,” I sighed, angrily wiping water off my face, his claims making me more irritated by the second.
“So you think,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “Jonathan – you know, the alpha-ultra mate you wanted to reject only because he was a werewolf – has better senses than you and could tell just how scared you were.”
“I was neither hyperventilating nor trembling, I...”
My attempt at defending myself was cut short, “Your fear has to cease now!” His ferocious demand startled me, making me doubt this was the same man who had been happy I had answered every question correctly a few minutes ago.
“It’s not something I can control,” I snapped, sensing my body temperature rise sensibly. Anger bubbled within me, making me see red and imagine countless endings to this charged conversation; all of which included violence and blood. Truth be told, I was almost tempted to give in to those urges. It would be so easy to do so too.
And just then I realized what this was all about.
“Seriously, dad!” I rolled my eyes while pursing my lips in unmistakable annoyance.
My father approached me and gently stroked my wet hair, “You did not snap. I’m proud of you.”
Getting drenched was something I hated, and he knew that. Guilty people claiming they were innocent was something I simply could not tolerate. He knew that too. My fear of werewolves was a touchy subject and that was a widely known fact.
He had been testing me – it was that easy! – and he almost had me too.
“No opponent is above taunting you with a known weakness. Remember that, sweetie,” he said as he kissed my forehead affectionately before pushing me gently towards the kitchen door where mom stood watching silently. “Now, go take a shower. I don’t want you catching a cold.”
“Yes, dad,” I readily agreed, feeling drained after the whole ordeal.
That evening, when I explained to Jonathan what had happened with my dad, he found it both funny and smart of him to do that.
It was a beautiful night, we were in the forest, and that allowed us to admire the star-filled sky. As cliché as that may sound, nature soothed me greatly. Having checked the weather forecast beforehand, Jonathan had prepared a picnic for our tenth date.
This was our last try-date.
This is it! I breathed out a heavy sigh before finally confessing my well-thought-out, never-so-awaited decision, “These last ten days, I enjoyed being with you, Jonathan. I won’t reject you.”
I had decided to follow my heart, my rational thinking be damned. I did not want to regret not giving him – us – a chance. The alpha-ultra had won me over. His seduction had been unusual
