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I push open the tall, arched door to Spellcraft Fundamentals, and immediately the fragrance of lavender and bergamot hits my senses—Professor Ambrose must be burning her signature blend of herbs again. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in streams of morning sunlight, painting stripes of gold across the worn wooden desks. There’s a low murmur of excitement among my classmates, all of us eager to see what our famously enigmatic professor has in store for us today.

Marisol spots me and waves from the middle row, where she’s already set up with her notebook and a colorful spread of pens. We’ve grown closer over the last couple of weeks—our partnership in spellwork starting to turn into real friendship. She has this magnetic optimism that makes me feel less alone navigating my new life as a budding witch.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat next to her. “Ready for round two of magical boot camp?”

She flashes a grin. “Bring it on! My wrists are still sore from Monday’s shielding practice, though.”

I chuckle, shaking out my own stiff fingers. “Same. Pretty sure I dreamt about wards chasing me around the library that night.”

Before Marisol can reply, the door at the front of the room swings open, and Professor Ambrose sweeps in. She wears her hair pinned back, the silver streak framing her face with an air of effortless authority. Her long robes rustle as she makes her way to the lectern, the low chatter in the room subsiding to a hush.

“Good morning,” she begins, glancing around at all of us. “I trust you’ve been practicing your spellwork. Today, we’ll build on our continued foundation with a spell that offers more subtlety—specifically, concealment.”

A flicker of excitement passes through the class, including me. Concealment? That sounds immediately useful, especially with all the chaos in my life lately.

Professor Ambrose continues, her voice echoing lightly in the spacious chamber, “Unlike warding, which repels or guards, concealment distorts perception. It doesn’t render you truly invisible, but it can make you far more difficult to detect—whether by mundane eyes or certain forms of magical scrying.”

She gestures to a chalkboard where a neat incantation is already written in pale script.

Obscura meum conspectum, umbram dantis lumen.

“Repeat after me,” she instructs, pronouncing each word slowly. We all echo her in unison, stumbling over the unfamiliar wording. “Good. Now, watch the motion carefully. Think of gathering your internal energy like a veil you pull around yourself.”

She demonstrates, tracing a circle around her torso with one hand while clutching a short staff in the other. A soft shimmer emanates from her fingertips, enveloping her form. For a moment, the edges of her silhouette flicker like heat haze on a summer road.

Marisol and I exchange exhilarated glances. This is going to be so handy, I think, a thrill coursing through me.

“All right,” Professor Ambrose says, dropping the spell. “Pair up with your usual partners and spread out. You’ll need space to move. Remember: your partner is your observer. They’ll help you gauge how effective your concealment is.”

The clatter of desks and low chatter fills the room as students shuffle into open areas. Marisol and I find a corner by a tall window, where the sunlight illuminates swirling dust particles and warms the air around us. We set down our bags and face each other, adrenaline buzzing in my veins.

“You first?” I ask, offering a playful raise of my eyebrow.

Marisol squares her shoulders. “Sure. Let’s see if all my late-night energy channeling paid off.”

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, then speaks the incantation in a clear voice. I watch a faint ripple pass along her arms, but the effect fizzles out before it reaches her shoulders.

“Ugh,” she groans. “I felt something, but it didn’t hold.”

“Try again,” I urge, resting a comforting hand on her forearm. “Remember how you pictured your protective ward? Except now, it’s not about pushing others away—it’s about hiding you.”

Her eyes flash with determination. She whispers the words again:

“Obscura meum conspectum, umbram dantis lumen…”

This time, a gauzy shimmer wraps around her like a second skin. She doesn’t vanish, not exactly, but the edges of her form blur, like I’m looking at her through frosted glass.

“That’s it!” I exclaim, voice hushed. “I can see you, but it’s… fuzzy.”

Marisol releases the spell with a giddy laugh. “Okay, your turn, Miss Ward Master.”

I smile as I set my shoulders, recalling the steady calm I’ve used for our other spells. The chant is slightly different, but the principle feels the same—gather energy, shape it with intent. I speak the incantation in a measured tone:

“Obscura meum conspectum, umbram dantis lumen.”

Warmth spreads through my chest and flows down my arms. I feel the air shift around me, and suddenly Marisol’s gaze goes a bit distant.

“Whoa,” she whispers. “I can still see your silhouette, but it’s distorted. Do a little spin.”

I turn in place, and she tracks me with difficulty, her eyes widening in delight.

“You’re basically a wobbly mirror image. That’s… so cool,” she breathes.

A glow of pride surges in me. This is exactly the kind of magic I need—quiet, subversive, effective. Something that will help me slip under the radar if I need to face the Solstice Society again.

Professor Ambrose glides over, nodding in approval when she sees the shimmering aura around me. “Well done, Sylvie. Your focus is impressive. Keep practicing duration and stability—distraction can break the effect prematurely.”

I drop the spell, feeling my pulse thrum with excitement. Next to me, Marisol claps a hand on my shoulder, and I grin back at her. There’s a comfortable camaraderie between us now—like we’re more than just classmates. We’re allies in the art of witchcraft. I still need to introduce her to Rebecca and Nicole, too. I’ve been meaning to, but life has been a bit…hectic.

The rest of our class whips by in a blur of trial and error, laughter and exasperated groans whenever someone loses concentration and the concealment snaps. By the end, we’ve both managed to hold the distortion effect for a solid minute each. My head buzzes from the magical exertion, but it’s a satisfying buzz—like a runner’s high after a marathon.

* * *

I slip out of the classroom, still giddy from the lesson. But a knot of nerves tightens in my stomach as I head for the administrative wing. Just get it over with, Sylvie , I tell myself. Mr. Fallon will understand.

The hallway leading to the guidance offices is quieter than the other wings of the school. A few students linger by the bulletin board, scanning club flyers. The overhead lights hum softly, reflecting off polished marble floors. The contrast from the vibrant energy of Spellcraft Fundamentals makes me feel like I’m stepping into a library.

Taking a steadying breath, I knock on Mr. Fallon’s half-open door.

“Come in,” chimes his warm, familiar voice.

I step into the office, which is lined with file cabinets, shelves of reference books, and a large window that overlooks Blackthorne’s front courtyard. Mr. Fallon sits behind his cluttered desk, a kindly expression on his face. He gestures for me to have a seat in one of the padded chairs.

“Sylvie, good to see you. How’s everything? How’s your sister now that she’s been found safe and sound?”

Mr. Fallon is aware that Lara is no longer missing, I told him as much. But to my knowledge, he doesn’t know any of the details behind her disappearance or resurgence.

I nod, setting my bag down. “Still trying to settle back into my norm. Actually, that’s kinda why I’m here. I need a drastic schedule change, Mr. Fallon.”

His brow creases, but his voice remains gentle. “Go on.”

“I want to drop all of my current courses, except for my two magic-focused classes,” I blurt out. “Spellcraft Fundamentals and Elemental Magic: Theory and Practice.” I think better of it and add a quick, “Please.”

A beat of silence passes. He sits back, tapping a pen lightly against his desk. “That’s quite the request. Might I ask why?”

“Because… my life is hectic right now,” I say, trying to maintain composure. I decide to be a little more open with him. “I’m dealing with… some very serious supernatural issues. My sister’s safety is at stake, and I’m working to figure out how to help her. On top of that, I’m trying to hone my abilities as a witch. As you know, I thought I was a normal human before setting foot on Blackthorne soil. I just can’t juggle normal coursework right now.”

He studies me, concern etched into his features. “Does this mean you’re changing your major?”

“Eventually,” I admit. “But for now, I just want to focus on my magical side. Next semester, I’d like to switch to a fully supernatural-based schedule.”

Mr. Fallon exhales, expression thoughtful. “It’s late in the term, so you’ll lose credit for the classes you’re dropping. But given your… unique circumstances, I can arrange a withdrawal that won’t damage your academic standing too severely.”

My shoulders relax with relief. “Thank you. That’s more than I hoped for.”

He leans forward, folding his hands. “Just be aware this may delay your overall graduation timeline.”

I shrug. “I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to do what’s best for me, and for my sister.”

Mr. Fallon nods slowly, scribbling a note on a pad. “All right. I’ll file the paperwork to officially drop those courses. And we’ll adjust your schedule next semester so you can continue on a magical track.”

He glances at me over his glasses, a fatherly kindness in his eyes. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

A lump forms in my throat. “Actually, yes. I want to move off campus. I have a close place to stay,” I tell him, thinking it probably isn’t best to inform him of my staying with Lucian. I’m not exactly sure how it’ll look for a professor and student to be living together. “Things have been chaotic, and I don’t feel safe in the dorms anymore—for multiple reasons. And with Lara’s condition still uncertain, I…” I swallow hard. “…I need a calmer environment.”

His eyebrows rise, but there’s no hint of disapproval. “We usually require underclassmen to remain in the dorms, but given your recent troubles and your, er, extracurricular responsibilities, I’ll make an exception. You can file the off-campus request with Housing, and I’ll approve it.”

My gratitude is so strong it almost knocks me off balance. “Thank you,” I say, voice trembling slightly. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing.”

He rises and holds out his hand. I stand too, shaking it, struck by how supportive he’s being despite the unconventional situation. “Keep us posted if anything changes,” he says gently. “Remember, Blackthorne is here to support you, supernatural or otherwise.”

With one last nod of thanks, I leave Mr. Fallon’s office, breathing a little easier. My heart pounds with a mix of nerves and hope. I’m really doing this, I think. No more balancing a normal college life when nothing in my life is normal. I’ll live at Lucian’s estate, focus on becoming the witch I need to be, and figure out a way to save Lara.

As I step into the hallway, I allow myself a small smile. The future might be uncertain, but I’m no longer paralyzed by indecision. With each spell I learn, each step I take, I feel the momentum building—and I’m more determined than ever to see all of this through.