“Name’s Crispin. Corridor Watchmouse, Third Circle. Magical security with a dash of flair.”
“Right.”
“And you are the chaos witchling everyone’s talking about. Impressive entrance, by the way. Few students are responsible for drawing blood before even beginning their training.”
My face flushes. “I had no part in the chaos at the welcome circle.”
“Of course not. Innocent until caught in the act, I get it.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
“Going outside at night is not advisable.”
“I have no intention of going outside.” Yikes. Knowing those Guardians patrol over the grounds at night is enough to keep me a shut-in for life. “I’m just going to explore the corridors.”
He eyes me for a long moment, then gives a squeaky sigh and adjusts his tiny cloak. “Well, if you are intent on wandering, at least use the east archway. The gargoyles on the west side arenotfans of surprise visits.”
Then, with a dramatic spin of his cloak and a leap to a swinging lantern chain, Crispin disappears into the shadows.
A faint chuckle echoes behind him. “Be careful, witchling. There are scarier things than me watching the corridors at night.”
His warning gives me pause, but not for long. I do, however, heed his suggestion and head toward the east archway.
Navigating the corridors makes me miss Asher. He would love this and have a million funny observations to distract me from the magical overload fizzing in my cells.
Still, if I keep moving, it’s better.
After a while, the corridors all dance together in a maze of shadows, and I feel a bit like a rabbit lost in an unfamiliar warren.
The sensation is unnerving, and I start to second-guess my path. It’s weird, because I’m usually quite good at keeping my bearings.
As I continue, the sensation of being lost intensifies, and I look at the exits as a way to get back to the main entrance. I hadn’t intended to go outside, but now it feels like the most sensible decision.
In fact, despite my trepidation earlier, I’m now convinced that it’s the only answer.
Outside, the academy grounds are quiet under a blanket of stars. The air is cool against my skin as I follow the glow of crystals and wander down a stone path that winds through the manicured lawns.
Without the distraction of other people, I’m even more aware of the strange sensations coursing through me. At first, there was the static electricity just beneath my skin.
Now there’s also a feeling of urgency… of needing to be under the rays of the moon.
That’s when I see it. A wispy silver form floats near a cluster of rosebushes. It’s translucent, vaguely human-shaped, but blurry around the edges. As I stare, it drifts behind the foliage.
“Hello?” I call softly, moving closer.
Another shimmer of silver catches my eye, this one by an oak tree. And another gliding between two lampposts. They’re everywhere, these barely-there forms. Are these ghosts? Am I doing this, or do they just sense me? Is this what Wylder meant about my spirit affinity being in flux?
One particularly bright form floats past me, close enough that I feel a chill where it passes. The impulse to follow it is overwhelming, and without further thought, I’m crossing the manicured lawn, my bare feet damp with dew.
“Wait,” I whisper, though I’m not sure it can hear me.
The form leads me toward a stone fountain, then abruptly dissolves into the night air like mist. I reach out, but my fingers grasp nothing.
The need to follow it pops like a soap bubble, and I flop down onto the grass and stare up at the stars. The night sky is magnificent here, away from the illumination of civilization, a sprawling canvas of twinkling lights and swirling galaxies.
I lift my hand, tracing the calming sigil Wylder taught me in the air above my face. As my finger completes the pattern, I feel a subtle shift—my thoughts slow and my earlier trepidation about coming outside resurfaces.
“What’s going on with me?” I lift my finger and attempt the sigil again. This time, the effect is stronger—a wave of self-awareness washes over me.
