As Dad approached the gates, the shimmery blue field indicating the defensive perimeter grew visible. My siblings told meit ran the entire boundary and was crafted to permit only professors and students.
As this was my first time at the school, I held my breath, wondering if I was about to trigger an alarm. Dad pressed his hand against the center of the iron paneling, right below the glowing motto, and both gates swung open silently, like they were well-oiled. Expanding out from the gates were chalkystone walls standing as high as the gates and much thicker. At one point they’d clearly been white, but now all I could see through the mass of vines that had been cultivated across them was the patina of cracked and aged paint.
If these walls could talk, the history here would no doubt blow my mind.
A fissure of energy caressed my body as we crossed the threshold, but there was no alarm, and we soon made it along the cobbledpath that led to the front of the impressive stone and smoky-gray brick entrance. The design of the school was Victorian slashGothic Revival, and despite many of the wings having been rebuilt over two centuries, the overall facade remained the same.Dark brick with brown stone, turrets, and arches, peaked roofs and columns, dotted across the entire campus.
“Jensen said there’s a huge lake at the rear of the college where the water elementals train.” I struck up a conversationin the hope of easing my nerves. It was overwhelming to finally be here, feeling a slight sense of unease and excitement asmy magic mixed with the unearthly energy of Weatherstone.
“It’s beautiful,” Dad said with enthusiasm, “and there are forests surrounding the lake on three sides. The familiars arehoused in the barracks to the right of the lake, but otherwise it’s very natural.”
“I’ll have to get down there and meet the twins’ familiars. I feel like I already know them.”
I’d heard so much about this college, of course. Every member of my family had lived here at one point or another, and I was the last to climb the ancient stone steps. History said that the materials used to craft the entrance to the college were imported from the Battle of the Hedons in Germany in 1835. The necromancers wanted to capture the energy of those who died in that battle. There had been many magical wars overthe years, some involving humans, and others just between the covens, but the Battle of the Hedons was rumored to have been the most bloodthirsty.
Who knew, maybe these steps were the reason that Weatherstone graduates went on to the strongest of covens, and all but ruledthe magical world. Any respect I planned on displaying them though was diminished as my suitcase clunked up each of the treads,and I was struck once more by the thought that I wasn’t going to fit in here. Even so, I’d still take the best training inthe world, graduate Weatherstone, and find a decent coven.
In the end, that was all that mattered.
Your coven decided your job and financial situation, so the more prestigious your coven was, the better you’d do in the longrun. All I had to do was survive my four years here and make it through graduation.
Easy as that.
At the top of the stairs we passed through open metal doors, darker than the brick surrounding them. Dad, who walked thesehalls five days a week as a professor, entered the building like he owned the place. In truth, with his impressive heightand stern features, he always looked like he owned every room he walked into. Tom Hallistar was an imposing warlock, and henever hid his power.
Still, his softer side emerged for those he loved, and while I had no classes with him this year—he taught senior elementals—Ihad no doubt he’d be around checking up on me.
Inside it was warm, a blazing fireplace in the entrance hall casting dry heat over us. Unwrapping my damp scarf, I examinedthe room, which was wide with stone floors and walls, covered in thick, rich tapestries. It looked as if it had been modernizeda few decades ago, and from then maintained to keep everything pristine.
Dad headed right to the door withOfficeprinted across the front panel. He gestured for me to step through first, my suitcase dragging along, and he followed. Theoffice was well lit and clean, dominated by a long desk. Behind it, two witches sorted through paperwork, laughing as theygossiped. Powerful magic usually caused glitches in computers and phones, so for the most part the colleges had minimal technology.There were landline phones for us to call home, but otherwise we would spend our time here talking to each other for entertainment.
“Professor Hallistar,” one of the witches cooed, looking up from her papers. “What brings you in here this fine morning?”She looked to be in her midthirties, with a Southern drawl, overly curled blond hair that was piled on her head, and hugebrown eyes behind thick black glasses. She wore a lot of makeup and was shooting Dad flirty looks that annoyed me on Mom’sbehalf.
Dad was gruff as he returned none of her energy. “Ms. White, I’m here to pick up my youngest daughter’s welcome pack. It shouldbe under ‘Paisley Hallistar.’ She needs her dorm assignment and class schedule.”
Ms. White eyed me curiously, and I followed Dad’s example and kept my face passive and hard to read. “You have the prettiestchildren, Tom,” she said, her smile widening. “Look at those baby blues. I hope you’ve warned all the boys at the school.”
Compared to my siblings, I was no more attractive than the average witch, and I let her words roll off me without settling.This wasn’t even about me; she was trying to get a rise out of Dad, and he was stubbornly refusing to give her the reactionshe wanted.
“The pack,” he repeated patiently, my duffel seemingly forgotten as it draped at his side.
Ms. White’s smile eased as she turned to rifle through one of a series of filing cabinets lining the back wall behind the desk. She took a few minutes before we heard, “Aha! I found it.” Returning to the desk, she held out the thick cream envelope. “Here you go, dear. Enjoy your first year at Weatherstone College.”
“Thank you.” My words were polite; hopefully my face followed suit; it didn’t always do what it was told.
With a nod and smile, she picked up her paperwork once more and resumed conversing with the other witch as if we’d never enteredthe room. Dad led me out of the office at the same time as four new students were about to enter. I held the door open forthem as they made their way inside. None of them had parents, of course, since they wouldn’t be permitted on the grounds,and I thanked Selene that I didn’t have to make this journey alone.
When the last of the students, a small redheaded witch, was inside, I went to release the door when Ms. White called out suddenly,“Oh, and, Professor Hallistar.” Dad edged back into the doorway to face her. “Headmaster Gregor asked me to pass on a message.I forgot until just now what with all the new students.” She laughed in a delicate, fluttering way, but Dad’s expression remainedneutral.
“The message, Ms. White,” he said shortly.
Her full lips puckered. “Alright, no need to get snappy. He wanted me to tell you that Rafael Kingston’s son is transferringin from Italy this year. He’ll be in his third year, but will be teaching a few classes on spellcasting, since he’s the strongestof that affinity we’ve had in a long time. I’m not sure of the significance, but apparently you needed to be updated.”
She shrugged, message delivered, and returned her focus to the students waiting for their packs. The small redheaded witch eyed me curiously, and I shot her a weak smile. The aimwas to make friends, and since none from my high school were in this grade with me, I really should practice.
I gasped as Dad’s hand closed around my wrist, and with urgency he jerked me from the room, the office door slamming behindus. “Dad?” I asked, confusedly blinking at the frantic look on his face. “Are you okay?”
His breaths came out fast and hard. “This changes everything, Paisley.” His tone was almost unrecognizable. “You’re refusingyour acceptance to Weatherstone. We’re going home.”
