Burning

2. Dream Walker

"Dormio~"

That fucking sleep spell became a thorn in my side about eight months ago.

The first time it was used on me, I'd been dozing off during Spell Casting class. My eyes had felt especially heavy that day, as the night before, Shayna and I had spent a little bit too much time writing minor spells. We'd been warned earlier about the risks. . . 'too much minor magicking can have major effects' and we didn't exactly grasp the warning until the next day. My body was heavy, it was hard to focus, and the pages of spells I'd written and practiced had had adverse effects on me. My tiny hairs on my fingers would catch fire, making little poofs of smoke as they fizzled out. All those symptoms built up meant I couldn't decipher a vision from a teleportation or an astral projection.

In other words, I was unreliable and dangerous.

I remember suddenly feeling very cold, but as my teeth clattered, and I looked up to ask Harrison, our Spell Casting instructor, to be excused, I was no longer in the classroom.

A heavy white mist engulfed me where I sat, blocking out my sight and distorting the room I'd been in. Gone were the other students and Harrison, and what replaced them was a low growl; the sound a frightened mother dog makes as she unconfrontationally tries to protect her pups.

In A History of Dangerous Creatures, we read a chapter on about the Deleons. They were a race of moutaintop-dwelling creatures that breathed icy mist, not too different than an Ice discipline witch or warlock. The largest difference between the two was that witches and warlocks were human. The Deleon's, on the other hand, were shapeshifters. They shifted not to fit in, but to stand out, making themselves much larger and more dangerous that their native forms.

They also possessed the ability to transform into a thick mist and kill from the inside out. The text says that they sucked the oxygen from the lungs and froze the water within the blood. It was apparently a slow death, but quick enough to render a witch powerless in their presence.

My breath slowed as the mist penetrated me. I could feel the ice piercing my inner nostrils as I breathed, however, something about the encounter was strange.

I heard the sound of someone whimpering and I tried to brush the mist away with my hands. Through the mist, I could barely make out the silhouette of a young women, her fingers clutching her neck as the sound of something wet plopped to the floor.

The low growling grew louder. My eyes stung from the freeze and I lifted my left arm, covering the side of my face just as someone grabbed my arm.

I immediately began coughing, choking on the mist that remained as I was dragged back into the room. Harrison stared at me. The other students gawked and whispered amongst themselves about the Blood Stealer, and I shivered.

I looked down at my hands. Ice had covered the edge of my fingertips and nails, making them purple and tender to the touch.

Harrison immediately called for help, but it would've been better if he hadn't.

When Ignatius arrived, followed by Shayna as she heard the whispers and came to see what as happening, and Eric who thought they'd found another Ice disciplined witch, my body was beginning to shut down. I was tasting the ashiness of my blood as my cheeks and gums bled.

Ignatius was quick to blast me with some warm energy. He tried getting me to warm myself up with my fire, but I still had zero confidence in my abilities and wasn't willing to risk it. Still the ash in my blood felt like I was burning from the inside; freezing yet on fire at the same time.

After a few minutes, the Head Mistress, Abigail Shaw arrived. A talented witch in her own discipline she was old, well over 100, but used magic to keep herself young. She didn't look any older than 40 with her few strands of grey hairs lingering scarcely through her fiery red hair, and her carefully drawn wrinkles angled at the edges of her almond-like eyes.