A True Ex From Hell

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Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

I prayed this was one of my smaller mistakes. It’s impossible to tell upfront. That molasses moment just after a spell goes awry, when the whole world holds its breath and teeters.
Will it be let out in a gentle huff or scream on the inhale?
The magic pulses and stretches, trying to square this circle I’d inadvertently handed it. A mindless confusion. Like water thrown into the air, shaped by conflicting forces, a split second of metaphysical indecision before it all comes splashing down.
Then something scoops it up and I’m left flailing all over again, my bracing turned on its head.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
I try to reply, but I was holding my breath, and my retort gets tangled with a gasp and turns into a squawk that makes Chask laugh.
Ok. This is still salvageable, and arguably still a small mistake. Just humiliating.
His cheeky smirk is highlighted by the glow from the malformed magic he’s bouncing between his palms. I remember teaching him how to do that trick with a slinky. I shush the part of me which finds it endearing. He’s just being a smarmy twat. Demons for you.
Deep breath. Damn, where’s that retort I just had? Gone. Curse my flighty mind!
I manage a sour “Fuck you, asshat.”
The magic’s rolling slows. One eyebrow stretches impossibly high, his smirk unwavering. “I thought we were through?”
“Oh my Goddess you know I didn’t mean it like that!” I wish he’d step outside the circle so I can kick him. But, given the magic is still writhing, it’s best he doesn’t.
Damn it, the capricious bastid has to show up and be helpful. He only does it because seeing me off-balance like this amuses him. I can’t really shout at him for invading my workshop if it saves me from having to spend hours cleaning up. Or worse.
“Noooo?” He twirls the magic with one finger and admires the pulsing swirl. Show-off. “So. How’ve you been?”
I fold my arms and scowl. “Holding a conversation hostage?”
“Tsk!” In an instant his smirk is gone, replaced with a glare to match my own. Then in two swift motions he squashes the magic and gulps it down. “There.”
“Thank you.” I give a precise three-quarters smile. “Now there’s no reason for you to be in here. Goodbye.”
Without the magic the room is dim, lit only by the candles and Chask’s smouldering eyes. Which have narrowed to slits. I can’t see his expression and I don’t care.
A whisper of movement and the flames stretch to the ceiling, illuminating him clearly.
Disappointment.
“Do you truly think you could work a freehand Banishment when you apparently can’t keep camomile and dock leaf straight?” His soft voice cuts like paper. “You cling to your talent like it can shield you from carelessness. Meanwhile toilers who don’t even have Gift pull these spells off flawlessly. I never should have staked on you.”
Darkness.
Silence.
He’s gone.

Prompt was the first sentence.