Tall. Robed in dark colors. Pale-eyed beneath a deep hood. The air shifts as my so-called escort moves. I scramble to follow. The man lowers his hood. Not as young as the one beside me, not as cold, but the same inhuman stillness clings to him.
“Miss Blake,” he says. “Welcome to Blackthorn Academy. I am Headmaster Veyne.”
I manage a nod. My voice refuses to cooperate.
Veyne’s gaze flicks to the man next to me. “You’ve done your part.”
The other man inclines his head once. No farewell. No glance my way. Then he turns and walks away, coat flaring behind him, and strides across a wide open quad. Students part for him, as if they don’t want to be within touching distance of him.
“You’ll find admissions up ahead in that gray building on your right, the secretary will assign your dorm, and you can get settled. Your things will be brought to your room.”
I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around this place still. “My things?”
“Clothing. Necessities. That sort of stuff.” He waves his hand in the air as if it is all trivial.
I nod, as if any of this is normal. He returns my nod as if the conversation is over, and he turns and walks away.
“Okay,” I draw out the word and rock back on my sneakers.
And just like that—I’m alone.
Fine.
I square my shoulders and head toward the gray building, through a massive arch into what looks like it could be an admin wing. That, and it is in the direction he pointed.
A polished brass plaque reads ADMISSIONS next to the door. This is it.
Inside, the air is cold. And it's brighter. Too sterile after the pulsing magic outside. A desk waits at the far end of the walk-in office. Behind it there’s a woman with slicked-back hair, ink-stained fingers, and an expression like she smells something unpleasant. Her gaze lands on me and narrows.
“Name?” she snaps.
“Lindsay Blake,” I manage.
Her fingers dance across a crystal-topped slate. Light flickers. Symbols scroll in the open air.
“Hmph.” Her mouth twists. “Human. Has to be a mistake. Above my pay grade.”
She doesn’t bother hiding the disdain.
“Overflow dorm. Fourth floor. East wing.” She shoves a folded map with a schedule across the desk, not meeting my eyes. “Orientation starts tomorrow. Dismissed.”
Dismissed. Just like that. I pocket the schedule, grip the map, and turn before I say something that’ll get me hexed. Because I’m pretty sure she might have some kind of magic.
So this is how it’s going to be.
I stepout of Admissions gripping the stupid folded map like it’s going to save me. I’m pretty sure it won’t.
The thing looks hand-drawn, like actual ink blotches, smudged corners, half the names faded, and a stain that looks suspiciously like coffee. Fourth floor, east wing, overflow dorm circled in red. That’s it. No directions. No magical glowing arrow. Nothing.
Which would be fine if I wasn’t in a castle where people are literally summoning staircases out of thin air.
I pass a girl floating her bag behind her, like it’s on magical strings. I dodge a trio of sleek-uniformed girls whose books shuffle themselves mid-air. A guy in silver robes taps a rune and disappears straight through a wall. Meanwhile, I’m squinting at this crayon map like a freshman on her first day of public school.
Real subtle,I think grimly.Guess we know who doesn’t belong.
I’m sure there is probably some kind of magical enchantment to get me where I’m going. If any of this is real. I mean, magic?Magic isn’t real. Maybe I bumped my head, and I’m unconscious on my apartment floor. I hope someone finds me.
The halls twist and sprawl. Archways open into massive courtyards where magic hums thick in the air. Spiral staircases shift when I’m not looking. The whole place feels like it’s breathing; gorgeous, surreal, and about two seconds from eating me alive. By the time I find the east wing, my feet ache, and I’m ready to throw the damn map in the nearest trash.
