Making a quiet, sedate entrance had never been her style, but getting struck by lightning would definitely be a mood buster. Winds of change were blowing all around.

The edges of her red dress fluttered around her legs as the seven of them materialized on the lawn of the Witchery U campus. Jezibaba looked up at the rumbling sky and read the darkening clouds before sighing at the violent storm she felt brewing. She told herself the lack of welcoming sunshine didn’t matter. It wasn’t necessarily a bad omen.

But then it wasn’t just the weather she was questioning.

Looking across the manicured campus lawn, she watched a bunch of teenagers playing some sort of game. The boys pelted each other with balls thrown from skinny stick baskets. The girls cheered and yelled at the boys. She rolled her eyes at the nonsense of it, even though they appeared to be having a good time.

Thank the Goddess those years were several centuries behind her. She cringed just thinking about all the emotional drama the very young delighted in putting themselves through.

Yes, it was good to be older. It was even better to be an older witch whose power had yet to stop growing. Not that she wanted to keep the title of the great and powerful Jezibaba forever. Wasn’t that why she was here? She had to find a way to keep her two replacements alive long enough to secede her.

“Gentlemen, I need to find the proper motivation for this task. Tell me again why our presence here is necessary. I’m not used to jobs where I don’t have to kill someone.”

Jezibaba rolled her eyes when she heard a shuffling of seven gray robes sweeping the grass behind her as they silently communicated with each other. They were probably drawing mental straws about who would give her the bad news.

All were male witches, or warlocks as her testosterone laden posse preferred to be called. They were powerful seers, great conjurers, and fairly good at fetching coffee. Outside of that though, they were merely a bunch of devout magicals stuck in their heads. In her opinion, the whole lot was afraid to use their damn balls.

No wonder the Jezibaba was always a female witch. A female’s irrational anger fueled a what-the-hell bravery few males could ever match. Feeling it now, she pushed her long mass of curly red hair over both her shoulders as she turned to favor them with a knowing and superior smirk. Maybe glaring was a tad mean, but it felt so damn good to vent her frustration.

“Look, I’m not going to turn you guys into toads just for answering my question. I’m not in the mood to torture you today. It’s just that I’m having trouble believing we have to be directly involved with the lives of two children. For Goddess’s sake, Nathaniel—will you stop shuffling in your robe and speak to me. Why in Morgana’s name are we here? Nothing seems amiss.”

Her most trusted warlock finally cleared his throat. She had been with Nathaniel for two of her three centuries in service to the Council of Witches. The warlock looked older than dirt, but he was still her junior by nearly a hundred and fifty years. She trusted the man for many reasons, but she liked him because he was the only one of her warlocks who wasn’t scared completely shitless of her.

And okay—maybe she liked the way Nathaniel talked to her. The man spoke like they were all still living in medieval times. Goddess knew, sometimes she wished they were, except for the whole lack of plumbing thing, of course.

“M’lady, the last divination of the Council of Witches revealed that the magical world would be switching to a multiple Baba Yaga system instead of continuing the current Jezibaba system of one witch protectoress. Two candidates have been deemed worthy prospects already. We’re just here to check on them. Their identity is being kept as quiet as possible by Council order.”

Jezibaba snorted over the last comment because she knew better. Her gaze went back to the cheering, squealing, annoying teenagers again.

“If the Council of Witches could be trusted to keep their silence on the matter, none of us would be here to check on the chosen ones. Personally, I trust your instincts about them being in danger far more than I trust the meager integrity of the Council. You all know how I feel about those backstabbing, sanctimonious, magic-wielding ass monkeys.”

Ignoring the in-drawn breaths over her irreverent cursing, Jezibaba checked her nail polish before glancing at the teenagers again. She was not good at dealing with magical children of any age. The young tended to abuse their powers and that always made her angry. Her patience about such things was nil.

Nothing Nathaniel had said meant she had to oversee the brats personally. She would gladly find them guardians which was being far kinder than the previous Jezibaba had been to her. She’d almost been killed dozens of time before she hit her mid-twenties. In fact, she’d been a woman of twenty-six before she’d even begun her training.

“So the prophecy was correct then, I am to be the last of my kind unless I become a babysitter. Is that what you’re telling me, Nathaniel?”

Her chief warlock stiffened behind her and his instant alertness to her tone made her smile.

“I’m not telling you to do anything, Jezibaba. I would never presume to do that. I am merely informing you of the same details we discussed yesterday when we were planning this trip. You alone will have to determine if the children need additional protection.”

“I guess I’d pushed that annoying discussion from my mind.”

She wanted to laugh when Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed beneath his black hood.

“Don’t get your loin cloth in a twist over my honesty. I’m here, aren’t I?” she declared, lifting a hand to point to the teenagers.

Real intimidation was a power rush for her… and the closest thing to an orgasm she’d had in months. Men who could handle her real nature—and her power—didn’t grow on trees, not even those in the sacred grove of Morgana The Red. She knew that for a fact because over the years, she’d bedded every mythical creature the Goddess had made, but had never found one she could care about more than a few months.

In the last decade, she’d shrunk to an all time low, seeking out those like herself who at least respected her magic. Unfortunately, she’d found nothing but self-absorbed warlocks who couldn’t get a witch off properly without magical help. Her feminine ego had nearly hit rock bottom before she’d figured out that she was better off alone.

Maybe her libido was more unhappy over her abstinence than she’d realized because it suddenly conjured a man who gave her body hope. She lifted an eyebrow as she watched a professor exit one of the buildings and head towards another. Professor Hottie certainly filled out his clothes well for an intellectual type. Muscles rippled under the loose white shirt he wore beneath his forest green academic robe. His slacks molded the rest of his shape in a way that immediately jumpstarted a fantasy or two about what remained tantalizingly out of sight.

But something about him triggered a memory… or an instinct… or some sort of something. It was one of those feelings a smart witch would never ignore.

Dreading the truth but having to know, Jezibaba waved a hand over her eyes and swore at what her magical sight revealed. Knowing now what he truly was only made her appreciate her innate caution more. Professor Hottie, with all those rippling muscles, was a fire-breathing dragon, which meant he was totally off limits to her.

Sighing in resignation, Jezibaba gave up watching his sexy, masculine walk and started trudging towards the field of teens who were still screaming at each other. They had never ceased as far she could tell. Might as well get the introductions over with so she could put the frustrating day behind her as quickly as possible.

“Forgive me, m’lady… but you’re going the wrong way.”

Jezibaba swung a questioning gaze back to an equally confused Nathaniel, her eyebrows shooting up and making her whole facial expression match.

“What do you mean the wrong way?”

Nathaniel cleared his throat, adjusted his druidic style hood, and pointed a long boney finger at the building the now off-limits Professor Hottie had exited a few moments before.

Jezibaba fisted hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious, Nathaniel. That’s elementary level. Are you telling me the chosen ones are not even riding their brooms yet?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Believe me, mistress. I’m not confident in the matter either, but I consulted the Fates to check the Council’s determinations.”

“The Fates! Goddess, I hate those nosey old biddies.” Jezibaba stalked back to the front with the rest of her warlock posse.

“Yes. Well, the feeling is mutual between you, M’lady. They seem to hate you as well.”

Since killing Nathaniel was out of the question, Jezibaba genuinely glared at the messenger instead. “The Fates have a burr up their butts because I refuse to die on their command. If they don’t like me surviving their many predictions, they can take it up with Morgana. She’s the one who made me Jezibaba. I didn’t have any choice in that either. It was decided generations before I was born.”

“Regardless of your tragic history, I must unfortunately report that the two chosen ones are merely ten years old. I sought the counsel of the Fates in order to confirm their ages. The Fates laughed when I asked for more information. They said we’d have no trouble finding them if we went looking. Both descend from proper lineages. There’s no other reason to question this, unless you can think of some reason the other warlocks and I haven’t.”

Jezibaba sighed in frustration. “No. I guess I can’t think of any reason the chosen ones can’t be ten if they’re freaking ten. Very well, Nathaniel. What are their names?”

“Hildy and Carol.”

“Rather ordinary names for the chosen ones,” Jezibaba said, making a face.

“Indeed, M’lady. I thought the same. Your birth given name is much nicer,” Nathaniel stated.

“Oh, you’re sucking up now? Good show, Nathaniel. That’s why you’re still my favorite.”

With a long suffering sigh, Jezibaba started towards the “right” building, her fashionable red dress billowing in the breeze. The first thing she’d done when she’d inherited the position was change the damn dress code. She was the Jezibaba—the most powerful witch ever born—not some drab mythological hag from a children’s story.

She refused to wear her ceremonial black robe for anything but Council proceedings. She wanted to garner attention, not pity, from those who saw her. The red dress was far more striking and commanded a lot more attention when she needed to get people focused on doing her will. Nathaniel carried both her emergency witch hat and her ceremonial robe within his own grim looking clothes. That was as traditional as she was freaking willing to be.

Before she could put out a hand, the youngest of the warlock posse scrambled around her to open the door. She had barely nodded at his deference when Professor Hottie zoomed through the opening ahead of her, cutting her entry off on his mad dash inside. Her indignant huff over his rudeness caught his attention. Instead of apologizing though, he turned to her and smiled.

“Sorry, beautiful. You have very nice legs, but I’m extremely late for class,” he explained, his admiring gaze dropping to them as he spoke.

Jezibaba stepped through the door enough to allow Nathaniel to enter behind her. “How would you like to teach class as a giant dragon toad today?” she asked faux politely.

Even knowing the fire-breather was on her forbidden list, Professor Hottie’s husky chuckle over her threat still made her woo-hoo vibrate. She raised a hand to make good on her threat—and to show her woo-hoo who was boss—but lowered it when two children rushed out of a nearby classroom and grabbed one long, incredible fit man’s leg each.

The Council of Witches would fine her and reduce her salary if she reduced innocent kids to tadpoles for no good reason. Goddess knew, she couldn’t afford any garnishments. Retirement was on the horizon for her and she was hording every cent she made. Her daily ritual of checking her investments allowed her to sleep more peacefully at night.

“Professor Smoke, did you see them run out here?” Hildy demanded.

“See who, Hildy?” he asked gently, running a hand over her hair.

“The kittens. They were three of the tiniest, cutest kittens ever. They danced and let me pet them before they disappeared.”

“Because I scared them away,” Carol bragged, laughing as she looked up in her favorite teacher’s face. “But I swear I didn’t hurt them, Professor Smoke. I just let them blink out the way they wanted. I even waved goodbye and they said they’d see me again.”

“Us again—they said they would see us again,” Hildy corrected.

“No. Me,” Carol insisted. “They said me. You just can’t believe animals might like me better than you for once. Admit it, Hildy.”

“How would you like to look like the big lying toad you are, Carol?” Hildy demanded. She turned loose and raised her hands.

Jezibaba fought back a grin when Professor Hottie’s larger ones closed around the little witch’s hands while he shook his head in warning.

“Hildy, do you want to lose your recess privileges and your best friend?”

Jezibaba covered her mouth as Carol turned loose of his leg, crossed her arms, and smirked when Hildy narrowed her eyes.

“They said me, Hildy. Live with it.”

To keep from openly laughing—and from being pissed at the Fates for being right about these two miscreants—Jezibaba decided she needed to intervene. She let loose a shrill whistle which split the air, effectively ending the debate. All eyes turned to her with proper respect at last as she slowly removed her fingers from her teeth.

Professor Hottie had the audacity to wink at her attention-getting ploy. She gave him a warning finger wag for his grin which she took as flirting because his gaze kept returning to her legs. The girls were both still frozen in place, staring at her in outright fear now, which suited her just fine. But she ignored them to glance over her shoulder and smirk at the cloaked warlock staring at them in equal shock.

“The future’s so damn bright, I need to wear shades… or maybe have ten tankards of troll ale so I can deal with this,” Jezibaba declared merrily, sweeping her hand at the frightened girls as she looked back at them. She snorted at their continued stares. “I swear if you two were older, I’d throw you both in the magic pokey and hire smelly tutors for you. I bet you’d learn to appreciate each other then.”

Both girls drew in sharp breaths over the cursing… and the threat.

Jezibaba smiled brilliantly at their quaking knees, her power swelling to fill the area with a fine golden mist. Stressful situations caused the occasional power leak, but it was not enough to worry her. No one seemed to mind walking around in gold glitter when it happened and she’d always liked sparkly things anyway.

“M’lady—it’s impossible not to notice that the one named Hildy apparently shares your fondness for turning people into amphibians,” Nathaniel pointed out, leaning in close enough to her to whisper. “However, Carol’s superior attitude is oddly reminiscent of your demeanor when we first met. They are both tiny mirrors of your greatness.”

“They’re children, Nathaniel. Just children,” Jezibaba declared, but she could also feel their power tugging on hers as they stared. “Neither can be called yet and I won’t allow it to happen anyway. The Council is probably just worried because I’ve served longer than any Jezibaba before me. I realize three hundred and sixty-six seems old to some of them, but I don’t look a day over a human fifty. And these children are not—I repeat not—to be called until they are of a proper age to choose the path for themselves.”

Professor Hottie held her gaze as he leaned down to talk to his charges. “Girls, head to class now. Tell Ms Turner to start reading the spells, but no casting until I get there.”

When they didn’t move, Jezibaba met his inquisitive gaze and shrugged to show him she was not holding them with any kind of restraining spell.

Grinning at her reaction, he lifted the girls by the backs of their shirts and turned them away from her. Once released from his hold, they shot off into the room like bolts of lightning flying off his fingertips.

Jezibaba watched Professor Hottie turn and walk slowly toward her. His guard was up now, wondering who and what she really was. But she could tell his worry was mostly for the children and rightly so. They would need a champion or two… or seventy… before they were old enough and strong enough to take over her work.

When Professor Hottie stopped, her heart fluttered in response to the dragon’s protective stance. Goddess, it would have been nice to have had someone like him guarding her while she was growing up. It might even be nice to have someone like that having her back now.

One of the advantages of being older was that she knew better than to take her attraction to the dragon shifter seriously. She wouldn’t call it being wiser exactly. More like street smart and maybe she was simply not stupid enough to fall too hard for a nice ass anymore. Most nice asses had a matching one sitting on their shoulders. She’d learned that the hard way, as she had every other hard lesson.

Bottom line for her flutters? Her insides needed to stop that shit. No way was she letting a dragon into her pants just because he cared for her future replacements. No witch with any sense would stoop so low. Even if dragons hadn’t been on her don’t-fuck list, they had a tendency to mark females they slept with so no other dragon would go there. She was not getting a dragon fire created v-jay-jay tattoo guaranteed to wilt the dick of any future lover she took.

Her attention left her thoughts and returned to him when she realized he was scanning her face and not her legs anymore.

“You’re the Jezibaba. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I’m Professor Damien Smoke.”

A sharp retort about his oversight was on her tongue. It hovered there letting her taste the pleasure it would give her to say it and see his eyes flash in anger. But the nastiness just wouldn’t come out. Damn her weakness for sexy men.

“Quite understandable given the circumstances, Professor. Your primary focus wasn’t on me,” she answered calmly.

“No, but we both know my attention could be on you if you wanted it to be,” Damien replied smoothly, grinning when her eyebrows shot up again. “Sorry. I can’t seem to behave any better than the girls today. It’s just that you’re every bit as mesmerizing in person as I imagined you being. Of course you were alluring even before when I thought you were just… never mind that. Perhaps I better shut up now.”

Pretending not to care was a trick to pull off, but she’d had a lot of practice doing so in her life. “No worries, Professor. Power. Glamour. It momentarily draws attention. You’ll forget me a few minutes after the warlocks and I leave. In my experience, most unnatural enchantments never last longer than that, though I promise you, I do nothing to draw it on purpose. It is innate.”

Professor Hottie looked thoughtful for a moment, opened his mouth to speak, but then appeared to change his mind. When her stomach dropped in disappointment, Jezibaba narrowed her eyes.

“I came here on business. Point me to your headmaster,” she ordered, wanting to move things along. Action would no doubt lessen the distraction Professor Hottie presented.

Chuckling, Professor Hottie reached out and lifted one of her hands before she could stop him. Magic buzzed along her palm and down to her fingertips. He kissed the back of her hand reverently as was due someone in her position, and then shocked her by placing her palm flat on his well-endowed chest. The contact was just as nice as she’d expected it might be.

“The unfortunate headmaster of Witchery U stands before you—guilty as charged. I’m the one you seek, but you can call me Damien.”

Jezibaba slid her hand away, remembering the heat of his muscles even after the contact was broken. Damn dragon. Damn sexy, panty-melting dragon. He’d made her touch him on purpose. Why was he being so charming? He was hiding something—trying to distract her further. That had to be the case. Well, it wouldn’t work. She’d dealt with sneaky dragons before.

In fact, there wasn’t much she hadn’t dealt with in her tenure as the current witch protectoress. Professor Hottie might be teaching the future versions of her—and lucky them for it—but she had been taught at the school of hard knock spells, troll curses, and angry gods with vendettas.

“I’ve come about two of your students, Professor. Apparently, they’ve been chosen as my potential replacements,” she stated stiffly. “We’re not taking them today of course.”

She turned around to the grumbling warlocks behind her who had quietly filed inside the building behind Nathaniel. “No, we are absolutely not taking them. They’re children. Did you hear me? Children.”

She turned back to the sexy dragon and smiled as neutrally as possible. “We just wanted to make you aware of their futures, Professor Smoke. Perhaps recommend you take a few extra precautions with their safety.”

“You’re talking about Hildy and Carol,” Damien stated.

“Yes,” Jezibaba confirmed. “I am speaking of Hildy and Carol.”

He nodded as he thought about it. “I knew those two were powerful. We always look out for those with that level of magic at their beckoning—mostly because they be a danger to everyone—but they’re only ten. Real power doesn’t manifest at such a young age. I find it hard to believe they’ve been singled out already.”

Jezibaba nodded and frowned. “Indeed. You echo my concerns, Professor Smoke. This early tapping of my prospective replacements is a strange situation. I’m sure in a couple of decades their power will make it obvious they should be considered contenders. Though it’s not unheard of to be singled out early. In fact, I was chosen before I was born. When I got my menses, I fully expected the warlocks to come get me, but they never… what now?”

Jezibaba stopped her story and shook her head at the rumbling and groaning going on behind her. Her gaze met the sexy dragon’s. “I could write a damn book about the fragile sensibilities of warlocks. They don’t like to think about the fact I’m female in all regards.”

Professor Hottie’s responding grin made her day. It was nice to finally have someone recognize the political agony she bore for the sake of doing her job.

“So you were chosen shortly after your passage into womanhood?” he prompted.

She snorted at his words. “More like I was expecting someone to come collect me. Passage into womanhood? You’re obviously much better with nice words than I am. Not surprising, given your profession, I suppose.”

“On the contrary, you might be more surprised by my past than you ever imagined. I wasn’t always a teacher. Perhaps we can have dinner sometime and share our stories. I would like that very much. But for now, let me tell Ms Turner to finish the lesson. We can go to my office and talk about what measures need to be taken for the children’s safety. Have their parents been told about the prophecy?”

“No,” Jezibaba said firmly. “And we have no intentions of telling them until it is unavoidable. There is enough drama happening. The Council of Witches and the Fates have chosen my successors, but I will choose their protectors. There is discord in both of the children’s families and no one is going to take their normal life from them a moment sooner than necessary if I can prevent it from happening. That is my firm decision about the matter.”

Her eyes blazed with determination and only softened when Professor Hottie bowed to her.

“I agree with you and it will be my pleasure to see your will about this manifest,” he promised. “Now excuse me for a moment and I will join you in my office.”

Charmed despite her misgivings, she fought off her urge to sigh in frustration. “Why did you have to be a damn dragon?” she whispered under her breath.

For a second time that day, she couldn’t stop herself from staring at Professor Damien Smoke’s perfect ass as he disappeared into the classroom.