The Grimoire Girls were powerful. Respected. They had their own leadership structure, their own traditions, their own place in the university hierarchy. The book includes a photograph from 1920—a group of young women standing on the steps of a beautiful Gothic building, arms around each other, smiling.
Then came the Schism.
In 1926, the four fraternities formally separated. The book talks about it in careful, neutral language—"restructuring of magical education," "clarification of disciplinary boundaries," "necessary reforms for student safety." But between the lines, I can read what actually happened.
They didn't just separate the fraternities. They dissolved the Grimoire Girls entirely.
Concordia Hall was condemned. The sorority was disbanded. The students were supposed to be "integrated into appropriate single-discipline programs."
Supposed to be.
I flip to the next page, looking for more. What happened to them? Where did they go?
But that's where the chapter ends. Just a brief note at the bottom:For more information on the post-Schism transition period, see Administrative records (RESTRICTED).
I spend the next three hours pulling every book I can find about the Schism, about unified magic, about the Grimoire Girls.
The information is scattered. Fragmentary. Like someone went through decades ago and removed anything too detailed, leaving only scraps.
But scraps are enough.
I learn that the leader of the Grimoire Girls in 1926 was a woman named Helena Grimoire. She argued publicly for unified casters' rights. She published papers about magical equality. She had a partner named Cordelia.
I learn that Cordelia "disappeared" in 1930. No explanation. No death certificate. Just—gone.
I learn that Helena vanished around the same time. The records call it a "voluntary departure." They don't say where she went.
I learn that unified casters—grimoires, the old books call them—were classified as "unstable" and "dangerous" after the Schism. That anyone showing signs of multi-discipline absorption was supposed to be reported to the Administration immediately.
And I learn that every single grimoire identified after 1926 has simply... stopped existing.
No expulsion records. No transfers. No graves.
They just vanish. One by one, year after year, for almost a hundred years. Here one semester, gone the next, and no one ever asks where they went.
I sit back in my chair, surrounded by dusty books and scattered notes, and I feel the cold weight of shadow magic pressing against my ribs. The electric hum of lightning under my skin. Two disciplines already inside me, and two more out there somewhere, waiting.
Grimoire.That's the word. That's what I am.
And if the pattern holds—if I'm like Helena and Cordelia and all the others whose names have been scrubbed from the records —
Then I already know how this ends.
Dawn light is creeping through the library windows when I finally stop reading.
My eyes burn. My hands are shaking. The notes I've taken cover three pages, fragments of a history no one wants remembered:
Grimoire Girls sorority—dissolved 1926Concordia Hall—condemnedHelena Grimoire—vanishedCordelia—"disappeared" 1930Every grimoire since—gone without explanation
I don't know what happened to them. The books won't tell me. Maybe no one knows anymore, or maybe the people who know aren't talking.
But I know what I am now. I know why the four presidents have been watching me, testing me, pushing me to absorb more and more. I know why Catalina smiled when my sphere cracked, why Callum texts his mother after every incident, why the Administration put me on probation instead of expelling me.
They're not trying to squeeze me out.
They're waiting for something.
I gather my notes, my books, my cracked sphere that's been pulsing faster all night. The shadows follow me as I walk down the stairs, through the empty lobby, out into the grey morning light.
