The days were passing by quickly as Serena dived into her studies. To her dismay not all of it proved to be as fun as spell casting. Mage etiquette was boring and felt outdated, theoretical magic was difficult to understand and magical history turned out to be bloody, frightening and filled with war crimes. Unfortunately, the last one was a lot less exciting than one might have thought. Magical history was written as dryly as regular history, and Serena had patience for neither.

She was in for a surprise however when she sat down for breakfast. Her uncle was hidden behind one of his three papers. Had it not been for the smoke rising upwards at regular intervals and the turning of a page now and then, he might as well have been an oddly placed statue.

“Dancing.” He suddenly said, lowering his paper to look at her. Serena, who was halfway through her cornflakes, laid her spoon back in her bowl.

“Dancing?” She asked.

“Dancing.” Her uncle confirmed and disappeared behind his paper again. Serena let out an exasperated sigh, he wasn’t going to tell her more, at least not until he had finished his coffee and papers. She couldn’t dance, unless you counted bobbing up and down with a crowd. It wasn’t something that had pulled her in. Honestly, back in the States she hadn’t really been into anything. Life had been quite dreary, which was perhaps the reason she hadn’t contacted any of her old friends.

Yet. She added after a few seconds. She hadn’t contacted her old friends yet. But what was she going to tell them? For a brief second, she considered telling the truth, that she was a mage being taught by another mage. The amount of Harry Potter jokes and references that would follow alone would be the end of her. Her hand strayed to her phone regardless. A quick check in, it had almost been a week since she left after all.

Her phone had blown up with messages. She scrolled down the massive number of messages. “What in the actual fuck?” She mused. Those messages hadn’t been there yesterday or the day before, or way before that. “Ehm uncle?” She asked. A hmmmm came from behind his paper. “Is there any particular reason why my phone didn’t get the messages it was supposed to?”

The paper went down, her uncle’s face was unreadable. “Ah that would be the curse.” Serena raised her eyebrows.

“Excuse me, curse? Are you kidding me?” Steven shrugged.

“One of our ancestors was stupid enough to call upon a witch coven. They made some kind of deal involving a letter of sorts. He didn’t uphold his end and they cursed him. Now, all written messages get delayed. I recommend that you call, the curse incident happened before the telephone was invented.”

Serena shook her head with an unbelieving smile. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard so far. Haven’t you tried to break the curse.” Her uncle’s lips turned into a thin line, a no then. “Witches have a different kind of magic, difficult for mages to understand.; Their power comes from a different source, and you can’t take it from them. Regular counter spells and dispel magic do not work against their craft. Witches and warlocks are very difficult to deal with, I recommend not engaging with them. I think there is a book on it in my library, if you want to know more?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Serena shook her head. “No thanks, I’m good.” Her uncle frowned and she could feel he was about to lecture her on her speech, so she breached a different topic. “Dancing?” She asked. Steven folded his paper.

“Dancing.” He said and stood up. Without another word he walked out of the dining hall, but she already knew where he was going.

He waited for her to enter the ballroom and closed the door behind her. Music filled the air as he started casting spells. The windows tinted over, giving a night like appearance, lights flickered on and the instruments floated upwards, ready to play. “That will do nicely. All right, lets first try this the normal way.” Her uncle muttered.

He turned towards her. “The midsummer ball is opened by mage apprentices. It is an old tradition that stems from the dark ages. It is our way of showing that even the weakest, least trained mages, are still stronger than any other magically inclined group.” Serena gave him a disbelieving look, he shrugged. “There were a couple of wars and a whole lot of skirmishes, we will cover that in magical history. Point in case, mages won most of the wars due to the sheer destructiveness of our power. Although, I must say we might lose in the long run. I’ve always suspected that a circle of witch covens, supported by necromancers, caused mage infertility to rise. When you get into mage population numbers….”

He trailed off, then coughed. “The point is that the apprentices open the dance and the first dance is always a waltz. You have heard of waltzes before?” Serena shot him a deadly glare. “The principle behind them is simple, just keep to the rhythm. One, two, three. One, two, three.” He started showing her the moves, which were surprisingly easy. Once he had shown her both the male and female parts, there weren’t always enough apprentices of both sexes, he spent some time correcting her posture.

“Yes, we should try this with some music. I will dance the male part.” He said, walking towards the instruments.

“Have you ever danced the female part?” She asked curiously.

“A number of times, but not many were memorable. Reynold Coventry was a particularly fine dancer. He will most certainly be attending.” When he turned around and saw Serena’s smirking face, he tilted his head. “If you are suggesting mage Coventry and I engaged in more than a dance you are mistaken. I have found that romance is better left to the unwashed masses.”

The music started and Serena’s smirk was almost immediately wiped from her face. It was more difficult with the music on. It was harder to find the rhythm in the abundance of sound. The whole thing was made more frustrating by her uncle, who moved perfectly, making her feel like a stumbling baboon.

Finally, the song came to an end. “Sloppy, imprecise, a complete disaster.” Her uncle proclaimed dramatically. “That was what my father told me the first time I danced. I’m sorry to say that you’re not much better.” He walked to the orchestra and picked up a violin. “I composed this spell out of spite.” He grinned, suddenly looking boyish. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.” He said as he started playing. “Don’t resist, just let your feet learn the moves.” Music, both real and magical filled the room once more.

This time however, Serena’s feet danced her part perfectly. Her uncle’s lips didn’t move as he cast his spell, his face stern in concentration. But what his face lacked in emotion his eyes made up for. As she weaved and turned across the dancefloor his eyes danced with excitement. He might be a difficult man to live with, a dangerous man nearly all the time, but once he started casting, he was someone else entirely.

As Serena’s feet started on its last sequence, she saw an artist.