Side Story 2: Let’s Head to the Witch Market!
ONE evening, as I was drinking some herbal tea sourced from the garden, I heard gentle rapping against my window. Did a nocturnal animal arrive for some treats? I wondered. Puzzled, I stood up to check it out, and Gem handed me a club. I asked if it was for self-defense, and my familiar solemnly nodded. Right, it might not be an animal.
A powerful barrier surrounded Vizer that shielded students from outsiders, but it was better to be safe than sorry. But where did Gem get the club anyway? When I looked more closely, I saw that the club came from Gem’s body; my familiar had fashioned itself into a blunt weapon. The quiet rapping didn’t stop. I raised the club above my head as I cautiously peeked outside. I noticed a small, white carrier pigeon on my windowsill.
The pigeon, perhaps startled by my attack posture, stared at me, bewildered. I noticed a small messenger bag hanging from its neck, with an envelope peeking out. The bag was decorated with a wreath of periwinkles—I knew this mark very well.
“Is this from the Witch Association?!” I gasped.
The association was formed by a group of secretive witches.
“I only thought that they existed in fairy tales!”
I opened the window, and the pigeon expertly grabbed the envelope with its beak and handed it to me. After I safely received its message, the bird flew off in a flash. I wanted to offer it a glass of water or something, but the bird likely wasn’t keen on staying long at the house of someone who was ready to swing a club around.
The front of the envelope read: “To Misha von Ritual, we cordially invite you to the Witch Market.” For a moment, I thought I was being invited to the association, but I was wrong. What’s a Witch Market anyway? As I mulled over it, I cut the seal on the envelope and was startled when a magic circle appeared before me. Letters began to appear in the air from the enchanted envelope.
“We will host the 705th annual Witch Market,” I read aloud.
The Witch Market appeared to be an event that invited those who deeply appreciated magic. The message went on to state that witches’ familiars were dispatched throughout the world, observing fellow witches and ensuring we weren’t up to any wrongdoing. Those who used their magic for good were chosen by lottery and invited to this annual market to reward their good deeds. Which means this is a valuable invitation!
“I’m so happy!” I cried.
The market occurred on a weekend night, and since it was the day before my day off, I was certain I could get permission to leave campus. I apparently had a plus one, but that person had to be judged worthy by witch paper. Witch paper determined whether a person used their magic for good or ill; if pasted on another person, it would react like a litmus test.
On the day of the market, I simply needed to toss the envelope on the ground, and a magic circle would form to teleport me to the venue—the envelope also contained three pieces of witch paper. I was dying to attend, but I wondered if this was some sort of elaborate and cunning trap to kidnap witches. Just to be sure, I decided to consult with Professor Whipp.
The next day, after classes, I dropped by her room to deliver the herbs and told her about the invitation.
“An invite to the Witch Market?” she hummed. “How unusual.”
She claimed that only a select few ever received an invitation.
“I used to be a member of the Witch Association,” Professor Whipp revealed.
“You aren’t anymore?” I asked.
“Hee hee… I was expelled from it.”
She was caught cultivating dangerous herbs and was kicked out of the association.
“The association supports others very generously, and it’s also filled with compassionate people,” she added. “They were a reliable ally to have, but frankly, they have a lot of rules, which felt suffocating.”
Witches who had inherited unique abilities and spells from their families often earned the jealousy and ire of others, which led to the envious spreading false rumors that resulted in the persecution of innocent witches. Because of this dark history, rules were strictly enforced to protect their members.
“Surprisingly, being a teacher suits me very well,” Professor Whipp said. “I’m thankful they kicked me out.”
“R-Right…” I muttered, unsure of how to respond.
She assured me the invitation was the real deal, which was a considerable relief.
“Can I go?” I asked.
“Of course!” she beamed. “It’ll be an invaluable experience for you, I’m sure!”
“Who can I bring?”
“Whoever you like!”
Vil came to mind, but it didn’t feel right to invite the head prefect—I was in no position to do so. Maybe I’ll invite Ehr or Alice. But before I could leave to do that, Vil showed up, and Professor Whipp told him about the market.
“I wouldn’t want her to go off by herself, so it’d be great if you could tag along with her,” she said.
“I don’t mind, but are you all right with that, Misha?” Vil asked.
“Um, are you okay with that?” I inquired. “Surely you’re busy and all…”
“No, I can go.”
Attendees were required to pass the test of the witch paper, and Vil obliged.
“You see, this paper turns red if you pass and purple if you don’t make the cut,” Professor Whipp said. “Like so.” She pressed it against her chest, and it turned purple in a flash. “As you can see, I’m not allowed near any of their events.”
“What in the world did you do?” Vil asked.
“Hee hee, that’s a secret.”
She apparently wasn’t keen on telling Vil what she’d just told me. She winked at me, secretly asking me to stay quiet.
Vil took a paper next, and it turned red. “Looks like I’m good to go,” he said.
“Isn’t that great?” Professor Whipp smiled.
And so, Vil and I were set to go together.