Witchcraft Teacher Novels & Stories

But from the cheery smile on the woman's face she summarised their differences ended with the spectacles. "Good evening class, I'm Patricia, your spell formation teacher," her frail but cheerful voice carried through the room, "the process of forming a spell is called weaving. I believe we all know what a spell is, but most of us here don't know how to go about weaving one; I'll be teaching you how to weave one to perfection." She cleared her throat, "note, only a galdr and a chanting spell can be woven, as for the word spell; it has only to be read and mastered."

And what kind of spell had she cast on me? As I began to approach them, I caught sight of Mr. Daniel, the witch teacher, watching me from across the hallway. His eyes seemed to bore into mine, and I knew I had to tread carefully. I couldn't confront Pearl here, not with him lurking nearby. Our agreement with him was clear: no harming humans. And I knew he wouldn't hesitate to intervene if he thought I was threatening one of his students.

"Witchcraft has many forms. I heard some of you were shaking up at the other campus today. What do you think caused the power surge?" "I don't know, but it felt awful," Gwen pouts. "Like I was being roasted from the inside out." "Yeah, like someone tried to rip my wolf out of me." Sullivan, the werewolf from our last class, smirks my way. I sink in my seat, hoping I can use my magic to become invisible. "Anyone else care to share?" Bergins' baritone voice fills the silence and he sits on the edge of his desk. "No? So what do we know from history? How can we use the past not to make the same mistakes now in the present and further into the future?"

She was very talented, and was surprised oh well she took to this side of the craft. “Alright Sahara, let's get this over with.” I said leading the way up onto the stage. “Thank you Griffin. I will take it from here. Hello everyone, my name is Lucy. Many of you know me from the Coven as Amethyst's daughter. Others know me as Levi and Roman’s mate. But on this stage during this time I am the head instructor for the training against the Chaos Witches. Or for the wolves, the dark witches.” I said taking a deep breath before making eye contact with two steaming men standing right in front of the center of the stage.

THREE WEEKS LATER Three weeks passed since the incident when we were back at our school. Grandma had words with the headmaster to allow us to practice after school. Brad, John, Priam practice the swordfight and the armors from James, one of the best Knights of WitchDom. Professor Mecoy helped us to train the physical arts of Wicca. While professor Judo trained us for the self-defense of the dark arts.

He looked at me with that measured steadiness he'd worn since I'd known him, and for the first time I found myself looking at it differently, looking at it as a thing he wore rather than a thing he was. "My knowledge comes from a teacher," he said. "Not a person. Something older. A being that predates the packs, predates the bloodlines as they currently exist." He looked at his hands briefly, then back up. "What I know, the flame-weaving, the barriers, the older arts, those were lost to this generation centuries ago. My teacher was one of the disciples that had the art passed down to him.” "Then how did the wraith recognize you?” I asked back.

When I had taken my seat, I hadn’t been able to help the feeling of excitement and anticipation, cloaked with a bit of nerves. This was my first time, after all, at a place where I would learn to harness the power of magic, to unlock the secrets of the universe and become a witch. If I was one though. Maybe I could be powerful, not someone always left at the mercy of others. Mr. Fekon, the mathematics teacher, had been the professor that took the first class. He was a man who looked like a woman, and talked like a woman, with flowing white hair that almost touched his waist.

Derek had insisted on that—no history, no ghosts, just future. Nova stood now in the combat ring, demonstrating a chokehold to her twelve students. Her teaching style was brutal honesty mixed with unexpected gentleness. "Fight angry and you'll die tired," she told them, releasing the practice dummy. "Fight smart and you might not have to fight at all." Sophie's classroom smelled like herbs and possibility. She taught witch theory not as witchcraft but as understanding—how their traditions worked, why wolves had feared them, how knowledge could bridge what ignorance had burned. Her pregnancy showed now, five months along, and Leon hovered constantly despite her capable independence.

I never thought witchcraft to be such an open practice but still, I guess this is how it is in Wema Avenue Achara. We were called to the stage one by one, randomly picking a card from a black bag. The color of your card determined the class you would be in. There were 4 beautiful women on stage wearing dresses of the colors of the cards. I guess they are the teachers for each class. Getting to the bag, Priestess Camille was standing with the one image that has been hunting my mind, body and soul. He looked so handsome, almost like a god with his brown hair neatly pulled back and his lips stretched into a thin line. He looked so marvelous in his red long-sleeved t-shirt and black trousers.

The coven witches had been trying their best to finally conclude the last piece of the spell required for the ritual the minute Alpha Killian found the gifted one, Thea, but they were unable to. Valerie had no idea what exactly they were doing wrong. But for some reason, the coven of witches were still unable to complete the last piece of the spell. Even the best weavers in the coven couldn't make out the spell. Weavers were witches who had been specially gifted with the ability to create spells. Every witch was born with specific gifts. Some could foretell the future, like Amelie, others could create spells, some were channelers, and a lot more.