A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

The classroom wasn't a classroom in the traditional sense. It was more like a whimsical mash-up of a botanical garden, a wizard's junkyard, and a medieval torture chamber.

Vines crawled along the cracked stone walls, occasionally twitching like they had places to be.

Overhead, a chandelier made entirely of glowing mushrooms illuminated the room, casting an eerie, flickering green light.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and burnt toast—an ominous sign.

I stood in a circle with what could only be described as a rogues' gallery of magical rejects.

To my left was a goblin chewing bubblegum and scowling like the universe owed him money.

To my right, a troll whose idea of subtlety was the five-foot warhammer slung across his back. And directly across from me stood a ghost who kept phasing in and out of the material plane.

"Welcome to Basic Magical Applications," Archibald announced, clasping his hands nervously. The instructor was a wiry little man with hair that stuck out in every direction, as if he'd been struck by lightning one too many times.

Judging by the scorch marks on his robe, that was probably true.

Archibald cleared his throat. "Magic," he said, pacing in front of us, "is about focus and inner balance. You must feel the energy within you, channel it, and—"

"—hope it doesn't blow up in your face?" I quipped.

The class snickered. Archibald glared at me, then sighed like a man who had long since given up on taking life too seriously.

"Focus and balance," he repeated, ignoring me. "Now, watch closely."

He raised his hands, and a gentle cascade of sparks flickered into existence, dancing across his fingertips. It was beautiful, mesmerizing even, until the sparks suddenly turned into a plume of fire and set his sleeves ablaze.

"Focus and balance!" he yelped, flailing as he doused the flames with a nearby bucket of water.

From the corner of the room, Agnos snickered. "Ten out of ten. Perfect demonstration."

When it was my turn, I approached the center of the circle with all the confidence of a man walking into a minefield.

"Just relax," Archibald said, his voice wavering slightly. "Feel the energy flow through you."

Easy for him to say. My inner energy felt less like a flowing river and more like a clogged sink. Still, I took a deep breath and concentrated.

"Focus… balance…"

I felt a spark—literally. A tiny flicker of magic danced at the tip of my fingers. I grinned, triumphant. And then my glove caught fire.

"Ah! Hot! Hot!" I waved my hand frantically, which only fanned the flames.

"Stop, drop, and roll!" someone shouted.

"I'm not a campfire!" I yelled back.

Archibald doused me with the same bucket of water he'd used earlier. My pride smoldered as much as my glove.

"Perhaps," Archibald said delicately, "we'll try something simpler."

Simpler turned out to be summoning a familiar—a basic magical companion meant to assist with spells. I focused again, muttering the incantation under my breath.

This time, I managed to summon something. Unfortunately, it wasn't the majestic hawk I'd envisioned.

It was a squirrel.

A very angry squirrel.

"Get it off me!" I screamed as it clawed its way up my arm and onto my shoulder, chittering furiously.

From his perch on a stack of books, Agnos tilted his head. "Is that supposed to happen?"

"Shut up and help!"

"I'm a cat. We don't do manual labor."

"Oh no, not again," Archibald groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Someone get the squirrel treats!"

The squirrel gave me an accusing glare before launching itself at Agnos, who promptly leapt ten feet in the air with an undignified yowl.

"Is summoning angry familiars supposed to be part of today's lesson?" I asked, doing my best to dodge the ensuing chaos.

"Not that familiar," Archibald replied, trying to coax the squirrel off a now-panicked goblin's head.

The squirrel eventually disapparated in a puff of smoke, leaving me with shredded sleeves and wounded dignity.

Archibald let out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's try something simpler—an object this time. Maybe that'll be safer for the class… and for you." His gaze locked on me, the emphasis hitting like a particularly sharp quill.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Right. Summon an object. Simple enough. What could possibly go wrong?

I nodded, trying to muster a shred of confidence. "Summon an object. Easy."

Archibald's eyebrow lifted, his skepticism practically radiating across the room.

"Focus on something simple," he said, enunciating each word like I was already destined to mess this up. "A pebble, a quill… perhaps a sandwich if you're feeling particularly daring."

A sandwich? Practical and potentially life-saving, given my growling stomach.

Unfortunately, said stomach chose this exact moment to voice its approval—loudly. The class burst into giggles, and my ears burned hotter than a dragon's sneeze.

"Right, then," I muttered, clapping my hands together in a show of fake enthusiasm. "Sandwich it is."

I closed my eyes, stretching my hands forward like I'd seen in the textbook diagrams.

"Picture it," I whispered to myself, trying to drown out the snickering. "A perfect sandwich. Bread, filling, maybe cheese…" My mind wandered to the turkey club I'd devoured last week.

The magic crackled at my fingertips, a sign I was doing something. But as the air around me shimmered, I had a sinking suspicion that I might've overdone it.

Turns out my object summoning attempt was even worse. Instead of summoning anything useful, I unleashed an explosion of glitter.

Not the spark I was aiming for, mind you, but a full-blown explosion of glitter erupted from my hand, showering the entire room in a blinding rainbow of sparkles.

The centaur let out an incredulous snort. The goblin clapped with glee. Agnos, now covered head to paw in glitter, looked like he was plotting my slow and painful demise.

"Is glitter a valid magical weapon?" he asked dryly, shaking his paw in disgust. "Asking for a friend."

"Shut up and hand me the fire extinguisher!" I snapped, though I was starting to see the humor in the absurdity of it all.

Archibald sighed as the entire class was covered in shimmering flecks of magic. "Well," he said dryly, brushing glitter off his robes, "at least you've proven that glitter can, in fact, be weaponized.

I was ready to call it quits. My hands were trembling, my shirt was ruined, and my nerves were frayed.

"Don't give up now," Archibald said. For once, his voice was gentle. "Magic isn't about getting it right the first time. It's about persistence."

I nodded, though I wasn't convinced. Still, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried one last time.

And then, something happened.

To my surprise, a small, glowing orb flickered to life in my hands. It was wobbly and faint, but it was there.

"I did it," I whispered, staring at the orb in awe.

"Finally!" Archibald cried, clapping like a proud parent at a kindergarten recital. "You did it!"

Then the orb slipped out of my hands, rolled across the floor, and collided with Agnos's tail.

The orb exploded into a shower of sticky, neon-green slime.

Agnos hissed, his fur plastered to his body. "CARL!"

"Uh… whoops?"

That night, as I cleaned the remnants of glitter and slime from my uniform, a thought struck me. If magic was anything like zoology, then understanding it would require patience, observation, and a willingness to embrace the unpredictable.

But just as I started to feel optimistic, a shadow moved outside my window. I froze, heart pounding, as a low, gravelly voice whispered from the darkness:

"So, the human finally shows promise. Let's see how far he can go."

Before I could react, the shadow vanished, leaving only the faint scent of sulfur in its wake.

I had a feeling tomorrow's lessons were going to be even more interesting.