“We should shower and change,” Evie says, already rummaging through her trunk. “First impressions matter, especially at the ceremony.”
I touch my tangled hair and grimace. There are definitely still leaves in there from my roll through the forest with Logan. Maybe a few twigs as well. It’s amazing there aren’t cuts and bruises all over my body, although given how quickly my palm healed after being sliced with the sword, I suppose witches have supernatural healing, too.
I’ve never had supernatural healing, but it apparently decided to show its face once I was in real danger. At least that’s one good thing I have going for me. Maybe there’s hope, after all.
“A shower sounds good,” I agree.
But as I gather my things, I know I’m in way over my head. Because everyone here knows what they are and where they belong. And I’m just Jade Harrington—dead bloodline, pathetic sparks, and the worst witch Blaze Academy ever made the mistake of inviting into its hallowed halls.
When I emerge from the bathroom, steam from the shower still clinging to my skin, Evie’s already changed and sitting cross-legged on her bed like she’s preparing to give a lecture.
“Crash course time.” She leans forward and cracks her knuckles. “My family owns the largest magical texts publishing house in the country and I’m the fourth Thorne sibling to come through Blaze, so you’re getting your briefing from the best source here.”
“Fourth?” I blink. “That sounds like a coven on its own.”
“My brother Oliver’s here, too. Third-year.” She rolls her eyes, but affection softens the edge. “He basically runs the social scene at Blaze. Everyone’s favorite Thorne. Which means I’ll have to work twice as hard if I want anyone to notice me formeinstead of as his younger sister.”
“It was the same thing with my older sister, too.” My voice comes out quieter than I meant it to as I think about the perfect Holly Harrington, two years older than me, who lives up to everything expected of her—other than choosing Harvard over Yale, my parents’ alma mater.
My heart hurts at the reminder of my failures—the one thing I was finally going to do right was having Yale as my first-choice school—and I busy myself with my trunk, unpacking clothes that smell like home.
As I dig deeper, a chill creeps over me.
“Where’s my phone?” I throw another jacket to the floor in my search. “And my laptop?”
Evie winces. “About that. Blaze is kind of… old school.”
I freeze, my favorite sweater in my hands. “Define ‘old school.’”
“No internet. No cell service. The wards around the island are too strong—technology glitches out.”
The sweater slips from my grip. “No internet?”
“None.”
“No Instagram? No texts? No Netflix?” My voice rises with each word.
“We have a library?” Evie offers, almost apologetically. “I’m excellent at getting around libraries. Comes with the territory of being surrounded by ancient grimoires and first edition spell books my entire life.”
I sink onto my bed, barely able to focus on a word she’s saying. “So, I can’t even tell my parents I made it here alive?”
“Oh, they already know.” She waves a hand like it’s nothing. “The academy handles all that. Memory modification is pretty standard for witch-human interactions.”
I stare at her like she’s speaking a foreign language. “They messed with my parents’ minds?”
“Just little adjustments. Making them comfortable with the situation, not worried about the lack of communication?—”
My stomach twists, horror setting in. “That’s why they didn’t ask questions about this place. Why they didn’t care about where they were shipping me off to.”
“Exactly.” Evie nods slowly, as if it should have been obvious. “The academy likely smoothed things out before your letter arrived.”
“So, they’ve been controlling my parents this whole time?”
“Not controlling. Just... adjusting their concerns. Making them feel like sending you here was natural, nothing to worry about. Probably that it was just like any other college.”
“No. That’s not natural. That’s manipulation.” Anger spikes through my exhaustion, sharp and hot. “What happens when months pass and I don’t call or text? Won’t they wonder where I am?”
Will they remember I exist at all?
