“Sigil ceremony?” I whisper to Evie as we fall in line.
“How do you not—never mind.” She shakes her head. “I’ll explain everything soon.”
The seven of us climb a stone staircase that spirals up from the common room, centering around the giant hearth below. As I glance down at it, the orange flames flicker in a way that looks slightly unstable.
“Your belongings have been delivered to your rooms,” Constance says without looking back. “Sandwiches as well.You’re not permitted to leave Phoenix Hall until after the ceremony.”
“Why not?” Garrett asks.
“Because you haven’t earned it yet.” Her tone makes it clear further questions won’t be tolerated.
Eventually, we reach a long, stone-walled hallway lined with heavy doors. Each has a different symbol carved into the door—flames, phoenixes, stars, and even a hydra.
Constance stops at the first door, which bears an intricate carving of a phoenix rising from flames. “Miss Harrington, Miss Thorne. This is your room. Ceremonial robes are laid out on your beds. Six o’clock sharp at the Emberhearth. Don’t be late.”
“How do we get in?” I ask, since there are no doorknobs or keyholes.
Her mouth curves slightly. “After tonight, your sigil will serve as your key. Until then...” She presses her palm against the door, and it swings open. “The doors remain unlocked.”
Hesitantly, I peer inside.
The room is like someone gave a Gothic architect an unlimited budget and told them to go wild. Two curtained beds, massive wardrobes, and desks that look older than my family’s Manhattan brownstone. On a silver tray, sandwiches wait beside neatly folded red velvet robes.
“Six o’clock,” Constance repeats, moving on to show the others their rooms.
The door closes, and Evie turns to me with bright eyes. “Okay, spill. How did you not know you’re a witch? How’s that even possible?”
I collapse onto the bed that has my luggage at its foot, somehow intact despite T abandoning me earlier. “Would you believe me if I said the only thing I worried about this morning was that none of my friends were going to talk to me again since I wasn’t heading to an Ivy League school?”
“No.” She plops down on the other bed, her eyes shining with curiosity. “The Hydra fight wasn’t your first time using magic. I could tell.”
I stare at my hands and contemplate how much to tell her, eventually deciding the truth won’t hurt, since everything’s out in the open here anyway. “I’ve been able to make flames appear without matches since I was younger. But whenever someone asked me to prove it, I froze. The magic wouldn’t come.”
“Performance anxiety.” Evie nods. “Super common in young witches.”
“So, I stopped talking about it,” I continue. “Started carrying a lighter everywhere so people would think that’s what I was using. Eventually, I almost convinced myself it wasn’t real, and that I was imagining it, like everyone always told me I was.”
“But itisreal.” She leans forward in excitement. “You fought a Hydra today. You fire traveled. You used magic.”
“Barely.” I glance at my hand, remembering those pathetic sparks fizzling off my fingertips while everyone else threw fire around like pros. “I’m clearly the worst witch here.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “But the academy doesn’t make mistakes with their invitations, which means you’re here for a reason. You just don’t know it yet.”
Her words sink like embers in my chest as I flash back to the silver electricity that ran through my sword, and whatever the hell lightning storm happened on the jet. Not to mention T abandoning me, almost being eaten alive because of failed wards, and the kiss with Logan…
It’s too much to process right now. Especially because the day is far from over.
“So, what’s this sigil ceremony?” I ask, not wanting to be as clueless and helpless during it as I was in the Hydra trial.
Evie’s face lights up, like she’s been waiting for me to ask. “It’s how we gain access to the academy. The sigil marksus as Blaze students, lets us into our rooms, the classrooms, the library—well, the parts of the library where first-years are allowed. We’ll get a basic flame sigil, and we’ll add to it each year until we graduate.”
“And they’ll burn it into our skin?” I eye the ceremonial robes with new suspicion.
“Sort of. It’s a magical ember. It’ll become part of you.” She raises her right palm. “Right here.”
I glance at the same spot on my hand, then pick up my sandwich—turkey and Swiss, exactly what I would have picked. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since... when? This morning before leaving home?
That feels like a lifetime ago.
