“See you around, Nyx,” I say quietly.
“Don’t fucking count on it.”
23
NYX
“What is the historical significance of Samhain?” Brandt asks me the following Thursday. I know the answer. I’ve done all the reading he’s assigned and then some. That’s one of the perks of having a new, scary, fire-breathing friend who treats the library like a lair: it’s one of the only places on campus where the dirty looks don’t turn into dirty hits. “Samhain, pronounced ‘sow-win’, originated around the ninth century with the Celts and marks the end of summer and the harvest season, and the beginning of Winter.” At my blasé tone, he quirks an eyebrow and sips his tea, waiting for me to continue. “Common traditions include wearing costumes and disguises, honoring the dead with offerings, feasts, and bonfires.”
“And the mythical significance?”
“The natural cycle death and rebirth as the warmth of Summer—associated with life and bounty, fades into the cold of Winter—associated with death and darkness, is believed to be a liminal time where the Veil between the physical and spiritual planes is thin, allowing spirits to cross into the mortal world once more. Bonfires are thought to guide spirits through theVeil, and some seek to divine knowledge of the future through pyromancy.”
“Well, I think we’ve established you have an excellent handle on rote memorization.” He gives me a wry grin, and I feel an invisible weight on my shoulders lighten just a fraction at his teasing. Unlike my other professors—except for Chamberlain who, despite saddling me with the creepy as fuck tarot deck, insists on trying to be my friend—he actually seems pleased. “Why do we celebrate it? Why does it matter?”
“Unlike the Spring and Autumn equinoxes, and the Summer and Winter solstices which occur when Earth’s position changes throughout the year, Beltane and Samhain are cultural and historical events that follow the solar cycle.”
He hums. “As with light and life, there is also darkness and death—opposing yet necessary forces that govern all things. A balance, wouldn’t you agree?” I nod. “Popular culture would have you believe that light magic is ‘good’ and dark magic is ‘bad’, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It is the not the kind magic you wield, but thewayin which you wield it.”
“So what exactly is the difference? Celestine and Augustine skipped over that when they ‘recovered’ me.”
He chuckles softly. “Light magic is the fire by which all impurities are cleansed—that wild and chaotic nature of raw, primordial magic, tamed and bent to your bidding. Dark magic, in contrast, is by its very natureuntamed. Rather than mastering primordial magic through domination, dark wielders must master themselves first, for their power lies not necessarily in strength, but in an incorruptible will. To wield magic in its freest form and yet remain unchanged by its chaos requires an unwavering sense of self.”
“And ‘Fate’,” I emphasize with air quotes, “is involved with all this… soul stuff. Somehow.” He sets his teacup down on the hot coffee table between us and his expression turns somber.
“Sooner rather than later, I hope for your own sake, you will come to truly heed that there are forces in the universe far beyond our senses that reign supreme. Our souls are bound by the threads of Fate to this plane and beyond, and while you may not believe in them, they most certainly believe inyou.” His words of warning make my skin prickle and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Epiphaneia is not just the awakening of power to channel and wield primordial magic. It is the moment the light of the universe shines upon you, and the truth of everything you are, everything youwill be, is weighed and measured. Will you be found worthy of the power it bestows, or wanting?” After a beat, he leans back in his chair, unperturbed that he’s just kind of maybe scared the shit out of me. The world will never know.
“Samhain, and her sister Beltane, are moments in time in which the physical world and the metaphysical collide: when the Veil thins just enough for the light of the universe to illuminate the shadows of the beyond once more. We honor the light and darkness as equals, for without them our world—that which can be seen and that which cannot—would be out of balance.”
My head is still spinning an hour later when he dismisses me with a new list of reading to complete by next week. I’m glad. I’ve been running out of shit to distract me from last weekend. I haven’t told anyone what happened with Thane. And Killian… fuck, and the other two. I never had this problem in Lynden when only Colt was driving me insane. Now there’s four psychos with more issues between them than I have fingers to count who seem determined to fuck with me. I shouldn’t be surprised that nothing’s changed despite my helping them keep their shit quiet.
It must have worked since I haven’t heard even a whisper of Thane’s overdose uttered in the halls. And as much as I hate to admit it, I am slightly disappointed that not even Killian, the least asshole-y of them all—which is saying something, as thebar for decency is in Hell—hasn’t even reached out to let me know whether Thane was okay. He helped me get back to my room and found my stolen backpack after that fucking prank by the Legacies, came down from his ivory tower to bring me booze—okay and yes, play grab ass—but a simple “thank you” is too much?
When I get to Ramsey’s corner of the library, he’s slumped over in the worn out armchair, snoring lightly. I try to set my things down quietly so not to wake him, but I’ve barely taken a breath when his eyes snap open to reveal slitted pupils, even the scarred one. They slowly fade into black orbs ringed with gold, but my heart still races at the otherness.
“Rise and shine,” I tease as he grunts, slowly unfolding his massive body from the chair to stretch. But I’m the one being teased when his shirt rides up as his pants slip down his stomach, revealing the holy grail of muscles that trail below his waistband. I manage to look away just as he relaxes and try to remember how to breathe as I rifle through my backpack.
“Hey,” he grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he yawns, but stops and groans.
“Tired?”
He rubs his hand down his face and scoffs. “Long night.”
“Have you tried sleeping in, like, ever?”
He shrugs. “Can’t. It’s just?—”
“A shifter thing,” I finish for him, and we both smile. He brings his backpack and sits down at the table as I begin to unload my books and laptop.
“How was your thing with Brandt?”
I shrug. “It was alright, I guess. We talked about Samhain a bit. Then light and dark magic, and Fate and stuff.”
“‘And stuff’,” he chuckles.
“Listen, it’s hard enough to believe in monsters and demons and all that shit, but at least I can see it.”
“Glad to hear you believe in me,” he smirks, putting his hands behind his head as he leans back in his chair.
