In an abstract, logical sense, Daniel knew better than to be flippant with his pernicious prefect, but applying abstract knowledge towards the practical often eluded him.

“Do you need help with your homework?” He asked, smirking back at her.

“You've got a smartass streak,” Rachel said, hand lingering on the door handle for a moment before she stepped away.

“Yeah, well, you're the one who's got a weird obsession with my ass.” Shrugging, Daniel returned his focus to the cast-iron cauldron he’d been rinsing clean. Shaking off the bulk of the water droplets, he set it upside down on the drying rack. “So, what do you–woah.”

Rachel had sidled up beside him without a sound, and now loomed just out of arm’s reach. “That's what I'm talking about, spark. I know it was you.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, projecting a lack of care. He didn't want to show how intimidated he suddenly felt. “What was me?”

“The rumors. The jokes.” Stepping closer, she glared down into Daniel's eyes. “You’ve been making up stories about me, you little prick.”

Daniel felt a surge of confidence when he heard her admit it: He'd dealt a painful blow. His plot had worked, and Rachel was hurting, and she'd just given him the opportunity to twist the knife.

“I didn’t have to make anything up.” He looked back up at her, unflinching. “I just told the truth, and let your reputation do the rest. Nobody likes you, Rachel. Everyone knows you're a sadistic, friendless bitch who barely deserves to be here, it didn't take much to convince them you were a creep, too.”

Rachel exhaled sharply, and Daniel got the mental impression of a snorting bull, stamping and preparing to charge a matador. “Don't test me, spark. You think your life sucks now? I can make it infinitely worse.”

Pressing his palms to his cheeks, Daniel made a face of mock horror and shook a red cape in Rachel’s face. “Oh, no! What are you going to do, humiliate me? Make me do the chicken dance and shit myself in front of the school? Newsflash, asshole, anything you do to me is just going to get added to the list of rumors about you.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Rachel snorted, her face burning red. “At least ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue’ is catchy, you’re just pathetic.”

“What did I do to you?” Daniel threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, making a show out of not caring. He was done playing Rachel’s punching bag–it was time to drop the hammer. “Do I look a little too much like your absentee dad? Or some guy who dumped you? Or is it just that I exist as a walking reminder that even a man is a better witch than you?”

At that, Rachel didn’t fumble for an angry retort, she just set her jaw. “A better witch, huh?”

“I heard you’re the reason that covens can’t transfer members,” Daniel said, missing that he’d gone too far. “How many times did you get traded before Blackburn created that rule? God, it must suck to be the group that’s stuck with you–it’s like a game of Hot Potato, except instead of burning hands, they got stuck with a shitty excuse for a witch.”

Reaching to the strap on the side of her skirt, Rachel took her wand, flicking it out so that the ribbon extended in a spiraling loop. “Let’s test that theory, then, Spark.”

Finally, Daniel realized he may have pushed a bit too much. Taking an unconscious step back, he asked, “What?”

“Take out your wand, and let’s see which of us is the worst,” she explained. “Here.” Reaching forward, she picked up his wand from the counter and shoved it into his hand.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Daniel said, stumbling back as he raised his wand.

“Why not? I thought you were so much better than me,” Rachel spat. “Here, I’ll even let you take the first shot.”

She raised her arms to the side, the ribbon on her wand dangling down to the floor while she waited.

Daniel almost–almost–fell for it. Clutching his own stubby, solid wand, he thought about what he could do that would keep Rachel from retaliating, then thought a little more. “You want me to attack, so you can hit back,” he said. “I’m not stupid. You don’t get an excuse to hex me.”

“Well, damn,” Rachel said, shrugging. In the blink of an eye, she flicked her wrist and hissed a word, and a lash of complex power flew towards Daniel and knocked the wand from his hand.

Eyes widening, he stumbled backwards, slipping and falling as his knees went weak. His wand was right there on the ground, but when he tried to pick it up, his fingers were numb and it felt as though he were trying to lift a feather through thick mittens.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Rachel sneered, stepping over him. “Trouble with your wand, baby boy? It’s just a little enchantment on your fingie-wingies. Any half-decent witch could clear them away in a second.”

Daniel’s heart was pounding, but he tried not to let fear override his common sense. Shutting his eyes, he searched for the strands of power, following the magic just like Jen had taught him. He could just sense the energy, overlapping his own body like a net, and with a little nudge–

Rachel flicked her wand again, and Daniel convulsed, falling to the ground completely, focus broken–not by pain, but a sudden, overpowering tickling sensation.

“You’re really struggling, huh?” she asked as he writhed on the ground and tried not to giggle. “Wow–I heard you were practicing with the klutz, but this sort of aura tracing is supposed to be the first thing witches learn. Then again, if you’re still potty training, it’s no wonder you still don’t know your spellwork either.”

Gasping for breath, Daniel coughed, “You–rumors!”

Crouching down so that she sat on her ankles, Rachel looked Daniel in the eye. “You’re right–if I were to try and humiliate you in front of everyone, it would blow up in my face.” Looking around, she made a show of raising her eyebrows, throwing Daniel’s own mock surprise back at him. “But would you look at that–we’re all alone, aren’t we?”

Eyes widening, Daniel continued to giggle as a confusing mix of tickling, laughter, and horror all dawned on him at once.

Leaving him to squirm, Rachel tipped one of the cauldrons upright, sizing it up in her hands for a moment. “I want to test a theory.”

He watched her, but couldn’t do much more than that.

“We’ve been around forever,” Rachel said. “Witches, that is. Long enough to appear in fairy tales, legends and myths, all sorts of crap. Good witches, bad witches, but all the best stories involve a good curse.”

Daniel didn’t like where this was going.

Walking the cauldron over to the nearest lab table, she slid it onto a burner. After a brief click-click-click of the ignition, a little gas flame sparked to life beneath it, rapidly the cast iron.

“Did you ever wonder why the good fairies didn’t just undo the curse on Sleeping Beauty? It’s because curses are hard as hell to break…if they’re someone else’s work.” Pulling open a drawer, she rifled through it, producing a handful of ingredients. “A good, solid curse ties itself to the victim’s own spirit. Try and break it, you risk breaking their minds as well as the magic that’s binding them.”

Daniel really didn’t like where this was going.

Pouring a half cup of clear liquid into the cauldron, Rachel stirred it slowly, muttering a few words below her breath as she did so.

“Of course, you can’t curse another witch that way. A witch knows her own spirit like the back of her hand, she can tell where it’s been tied and twisted. Curse a witch, she’ll undo the spell as easily as undoing her shoelaces.” Glaring over the simmering pot, Rachel said, “So, spark, we’re going to find out if you’re really a witch after all.”

Invisible fingers traced up and down Daniel’s body, and though the laughter all-but paralyzed him, he managed to get out a word. “Please!”

“Please, what?” Rachel asked, sprinkling a few extra ingredients in. “You should have no problem, since you’re such a good witch.”

He gasped, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time.

“That’s what I thought,” Rachel said, removing the cauldron from the heat. “Don’t worry–this is a pretty awful potion, I barely put any effort into it at all.”

Tapping the side of the cauldron with her wand, a puff of steam lifted from atop it, and when she touched the iron with her bare skin, it didn’t burn. Smiling smugly, she took a straight-walled glass bottle from the shelf below the lab table and drained the freshly-brewed potion into it.

Holding up the pale white liquid, she gave it a few swirls, then said, “Hold on, this isn’t quite right.” Giving the top of the bottle a tap with her wand, a rubber nipple sealed itself over the opening, so that it resembled little more than an oversized baby bottle.

Tears ran down Daniel’s face as the tickling spell forced him to keep laughing, body contorting on the floor. He’d begun to hiccup between the giggles, deep inhalations barely able to keep his lungs full of air as the torture of sensations attacked him.

Rachel stepped up to his convulsing body, crouched, and whispered, “Drink up, spark,” before shoving the tip of the bottle into his mouth with enough force that he couldn’t easily pull his head away.

If he’d had strength and breath, he might have been able to free himself, but he was exhausted and still wracked with a tickling sensation that left him too weak to fight. Resistance would only lead to further humiliation, and he was in no state to push his tormentor, so Daniel gave in and drank. Cool, syrup-sweet liquid ran down his tongue, like cherry medicine with a tinge of something cruel in the aftertaste, and he couldn’t do anything except whimper and swallow it down.

Ten seconds passed, then thirty, as the sickly sweet sludge ran down his throat. The tickling faded, but Daniel could feel something else working its way through his body, magic spreading down his veins like chains that tightened whenever he tried to fight it.

As the bottle emptied and the tickling curse faded, he fell limp against the cool floor, taking deep breaths through his nose. His face felt cold in streaks where tears had dried, and he wanted to go curl up and sleep for a week.

Instead, as Rachel pulled the bottle away, leaving only a lingering bitter aftertaste, he croaked out, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Rachel said, glancing down with a broad smirk. Daniel’s gaze followed hers, and he saw that his skirt had at some point bunched up, revealing a yellow-stained diaper beneath. “I certainly didn’t do that.”

He flushed red, realizing only then that he’d lost control at some point during the flurry of tickles. Not his fault, exactly, but it certainly felt like he was to blame. “But–” he started.

“Just remove the curse,” Rachel said simply, pushing up to her feet. “And you’ll never have to find out. Otherwise…well, good luck blaming this on me, nobody is going to believe that a student here can’t even undo a simple binding hex.”

Turning, she walked towards the door, letting the tip of her ribbon wand trail on the floor behind her as she left. With one last glance over her shoulder, she added, “Oh, and by the way–if you try and get someone else to undo the curse, the effects will be permanent. Good luck!”

Slipping out of the potions room, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Daniel to lay on the floor, eyes shut, tracing lines of magic as best he could but sure of only one thing.

Rachel was right: He couldn’t undo her curse.

...

I took a little haitus to combat some burnout, but I'm back, babies!

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