“Stop being a pussy, just touch it already.”
“Just touch it already,” I mimic, and she scoffs. The surface is cool as I bring my palm closer and press forward—shocked when just like Augustine’s, it sinks past the surface. Marveling at the feeling of ice-cold water numbing my fingertips, I pull my hand back and inspect it.
“You good?” she asks as she cocks an eyebrow in impatience.
“I mean, no.”
“Too bad.” She waits another beat before taking my hand and pulling me with her. I have just enough time to take a breath before she steps through the glass and pulls me with her. The sound of shattering glass and the sensation of being dunked into ice-cold water makes me tense in shock, but Augustine doesn’t let go until we’re on the other side. I crash into her as we exit the portal and she steadies me with deceptive strength. The largemirror with oxidized glass spots glows faintly from the runes carved into the ornate wooden frame, and they fade before my eyes as the surface ripples briefly before going still.
I stand, and run through a mental checklist, ensuring all my body parts are in the right place. The office we landed in is spacious but cozy despite its size. Wall to wall bookcases frame the ornate fireplace, where a plush couch is set opposite two matching armchairs. An imposing desk in front of ceiling-height windows gives off a masculine impression. My eyes strain to take in the view even with the scattered moonlight. Tree-lined paths are illuminated by faint lamp light, spreading from the center of campus like veins to the buildings beyond.
“Welcome to Dreadhurst.” Augustine’s sardonic comment breaks my focus. She rifles through the drawers of the desk, pulling out a folder. When she shakes it, I hear the jingling of metal on metal and then she tosses it to me.
“This is Headmaster Church’s office. Cece and I use an office just down the hall when we’re on campus, but usually we’re at Council headquarters—if we’re not traveling.” I crook my eyebrow at her. “Fine, when we’re not ‘kidnapping” people’,” she says with air quotes, and my lips twist into a wry grin at her sarcasm.
“Follow me and don’t get lost,” she orders, moving quickly to the large, double wooden doors that exit to the hallway. My mind races, curiosity piqued as we walk through the empty halls. Our footsteps are the only sounds in this dead of night. It feels wrong to break the silence, as if the walls are sleeping and my presence is disturbing their slumber. We round the corner and a grand marble staircase appears below us. I take a steadying breath before putting my hand on the balustrade and descending after Augustine. The patinated marble is cold to the touch, and as my ragged shoes touch each well-worn step, I can almost imagine the echoes of our footfalls are the ghosts of those who camebefore. They cut through the air and crash against the walls, announcing my arrival. As they dissipate, leaving only silence in their wake, a sharp ache stirs in my chest with the longing to belong here in truth.
I never felt this way in Lynden. The notion strikes me so suddenly that my heart skips a beat. I don’t trust it. I can’t trust it. Not yet. No matter how much I want to. A rush of frigid air blows the hair from my face when Augustine reaches the bottom of the stairs and opens the door.
“Fuck it’s cold,” I murmur, drawing my hood over my head.
“That’s Maine in the fall for you,” Augustine comments, leading me down one of the wider paths. Wind rustles through the changing leaves of the statuesque maple trees as we continue through the darkness, broken only by the moonlight and ancient looking street lamps.
“I thought you said we were outside Boston?” I ask with a hint of accusation in my voice as I still, suddenly wary. Of-fucking-course they lied to me. And it’s my own fault for believing them.
“We’re a couple hours north in Maine, also known as the Massachusetts Bay Colony until the early 1800s. The founders wanted to be close enough to Boston for the politics and culture, but far enough away to stay hidden in what eventually became White Mountain Forest. Edenwood is closer to Philadelphia.” Her words assuage my suspicions—for now. Whether she noticed my momentary alarm or not, she continues leading me towards my future home—at least for however long it takes to wake up from this dream—explaining more about campus housing. I appreciate it. I’ve never felt more crippled by my naiveté of the world outside of Lynden.
“Student housing is organized in four wings that correspond to each classical element: fire, water, earth, and air. Freshmen are on the first floor, sophomores on the second, and so on. Post-graduate students live in a smaller building behind the main dormitory complex.” It’s a miracle I register what she’s saying. My head’s on a swivel as I try to make out any details of the buildings we pass, too eager to wait until daylight to orient myself.
“You’re in Aries 7 this term. It’s a small single dorm but you may be reassigned next term based on how many incoming students there are.” We finally round a corner and the gleaming, gothic building comes into view. “Welcome to the Mercury complex.” The heavy arched wooden doors creak when she leads me through a foyer that opens in a common room, complete with couches, a roaring fireplace, and bookcases. Through the windows on the opposite wall, I see what looks like the entrance to a shadowed courtyard.
“We’ll take a left here to Domus Ignis, but down the right hallway is Domus Aquae, and across the courtyard are Domus Terra and Domus Aeris.”
“Subtle,” I murmur, gripping the straps of my backpack tighter, and she smirks. Our footsteps echo through the vacant hallway, passing door after door. Finally, she stops.
“This is you,” she says, motioning for me to unlock the door with keys from the folder. Unlike the main doors, this one doesn’t make a sound despite how old the building must be. Augustine leans back against the closed door and flips the light switch, and I wince when the sudden brightness reveals a sparse room. There’s a neatly made bed against the wall, an ancient desk and chair, and a tall wardrobe with a small wall-mounted sink next to it. One large window framed by dark curtains overlooks the forest on the edge of campus. Through the gap, the moon shines high in the night sky, dancing with the stars.
“Communal bathrooms and showers are just down the hall, there’s an elevator next to the main staircase we passed, and additional staircases in the corner of each wing.” I nod anddrop my backpack unceremoniously on the bed. She watches me intently as I take in the room. Her mouth opens, but closes when she changes her mind.
“What?” I ask, unable to hide the exhaustion in my voice when I sit down at the weathered desk and set the folder down.
“Just… try not to piss people off. At least until your epiphaneia.”
I raise my eyebrow at her. “You almost sound like you care.”
“What can I say, you’re growing on me.”
“Aww—”
“Like a fungus,” she interrupts. I chuckle, but it fades as fatigue settles in. “A lot of people will want to see you fail, Nyx Byrke.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I answer with a hint of sadness. She hums, but doesn’t press further. With a sharp nod, she steps away from the wall and pulls the door open.
“I’ll see you again, witchling.” In a lower voice, she mutters a prayer that I barely make out. “May the goddess watch over you, Daughter of Night.” My skin prickles at the unspoken emotion in her voice, but she’s closing the door behind her before I can ask what she meant. I lock it behind her and start unpacking my clothes into the wardrobe, but startle at the clink and dull thud of something hitting the desk.
“Aw, she does care,” I say, looking at the plate of food. It’s nothing extravagant, just a peanut butter sandwich, some cheese and fruit on the side, and a bottle of water.
Once my meager belongings are put away, I tiptoe through the hallway to the communal bathrooms she mentioned earlier and get ready for bed without bothering to explore the large, cold space any farther tonight. I’ll leave that for tomorrow. When I get back to my room, I change into my favorite worn, oversized t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts before laying on the bed. As Ieat the sandwich, I dump out the contents of the folder and start reading.
