Page 30 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

30

GAIDA

When we reach the courtyard outside, the snow has started to fall. “There is a Master Blood Magick class starting in ten minutes,” Luke states.

“And?”

“You are going to attend.”

“You want to promote me to mastery level?”

Luke’s expression remains neutral, but I can see he is annoyed at my questioning him.

“Given recent developments,” he says carefully, “it seems appropriate to place you in a class that can better accommodate your unique abilities.”

Recent developments. It’s a polite way of saying the fact that I’m unconsciously severing vampire bonds and potentially destroying minds.

“Professor Harlow can give you the necessary tools to understand where this power is coming from inside you if nothing else.”

“So I’m just going to show up to Master level classes without explanation? The other students will love that.”

“Master Blood Magick has only three students,” Luke counters. “All postgraduate-year specialists who are too focused on their own research to care about a new addition.”

He pauses, his fingers tapping on the book as his gaze pins Dante, much to his discomfort. “DuLoc. You go with her.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I believe having someone familiar in the class will make the transition easier for Gaida.”

Translation: he’s sending Dante to keep an eye on me. I’m not sure whether to feel protected or patronised.

I slump my shoulders, knowing there’s no point arguing. Besides, if there’s even a small chance that this could help me understand whatever’s happening, I have to try.

“Off you go then.” He glares at us expectantly. I’ve never wanted to hit him more. Or kiss him, for that matter.

“Fine,” I grumble and squeeze Felix’s hand before grabbing Dante’s.

“Be careful,” Felix murmurs. “Observe before you act.”

“Observe what?” I ask, puzzled.

His eyes hold mine for a long moment. “Everything.”

Luke nods once in agreement and then vanishes.

“Well, okay then,” I mutter. “I guess we’ll see you later.” I grip Felix’s shirt and pull him closer for a kiss that he is more than eager for. It is with regret that I pull away. Time is ticking.

Dante and I make our way to the West Tower, which houses MistHallow’s most specialised magickal classes. Unlike the grand lecture halls of the main building, these rooms are intimate, designed for small groups and individualised instruction. I climb the spiral staircase, my footsteps echoing against ancient stone, until I reach the room at the top.

The door is heavy oak, carved with intricate blood runes that pulse faintly red in my vampire vision. I take a deep breath, push it open, and step inside.

The classroom is circular, with windows on all sides, but have heavy curtains pulled across. Four workstations form a semicircle around a central demonstration table. Two students are already present, each absorbed in their work. Dante sits at one of the workstations, looking decidedly out of place while I hover uncertainly. Professor Harlow stands at the central table, carefully measuring liquid from a crystal vial.

She looks up as I enter, her silver hair catching the light. A smile spreads across her face that seems just slightly too eager.

“Gaida Aragon,” she says warmly. “Headmaster Blackthorn informed me you would be joining us. How delightful to have not one but two pureblood vampires in this class.”

I groan inwardly as that attracts the attention of the other students. They stare at me like I’m an exotic bug they want to dissect.

“Thank you for having me, Professor. I hope I won’t disrupt your teaching schedule.”

“Not at all,” she assures me, gesturing to the empty workstation beside Dante. “Perhaps we could begin with a simple demonstration of how blood bonds are formed and maintained between vampire families. Gaida’s pureblood status makes her an ideal subject for a demonstration. With her permission, of course.”

I tense. “What kind of demonstration?”

“A simple resonance ritual,” she explains. “It would allow us to visualise the natural frequencies of pureblood and compare them to turned vampire blood signatures. Purely observational, I assure you.”

There’s something in her eagerness that makes me want to refuse, but I can’t think of a reasonable objection. Besides, if I’m here to learn about understanding my Blood Rights, I need to participate.

“Okay,” I say slowly.

Harlow smiles. “Excellent. I’ll prepare the necessary components.”

While she gathers materials, Dante leans close again. “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” I admit. “But I need to understand what’s happening to me. Maybe this will help.”

Harlow returns with a silver ritual bowl and parchment inscribed with complex symbols. “This resonance charm is designed to amplify and visualise the natural frequencies in blood,” she explains, setting the items on our workstation. “Gaida, if you would provide three drops of your blood?”

She hands me a small ceremonial dagger. I prick my finger, allowing three drops to fall into the bowl. The blood swirls strangely, glowing with an inner light that I’ve never noticed before. Is this part of the Blood Rights? Can others see it, too?

Dante’s sharp intake of breath suggests he can.

“Now, Dante, if you would add your blood as well,” Harlow instructs. “Just two drops will suffice.”

Dante takes the dagger and adds his blood to the bowl. His droplets remain distinct from mine, creating a swirling pattern but never fully mixing.

Harlow places the parchment beneath the bowl and begins a soft chant. The resonance charm activates, symbols glowing with a blue-white light that reflects against the silver surface.

As the ritual progresses, I feel an odd sensation, like someone gently tugging on invisible threads connected to my core. It’s not painful, but it’s disconcerting. Beside me, Dante shifts uncomfortably, suggesting he feels something similar.

“Remarkable,” Harlow murmurs, watching intently. “The resonant frequency is unusually pure.”

The blood in the bowl begins to separate into distinct strands, mine glowing with golden light, Dante’s with a deeper crimson. I’ve never seen blood behave this way before, and judging by Dante’s widening eyes, neither has he.

“Professor,” he says, his voice tight with concern, “this isn’t what you described.”

Harlow doesn’t seem surprised, however. If anything, she looks triumphant. “Sometimes the unexpected provides the greatest insights.”

As her chant continues, the golden strands in my blood grow brighter, extending upward from the bowl like searching tendrils. One reaches toward Dante, another stretches across the room toward the other students.

A sudden crash interrupts the ritual. We all turn to see one of the students, her ritual bowl shattered on the floor around her, her face contorted in pain, and a cry escapes her lips. “My sire,” she gasps. “I can’t feel her anymore!”

Horror floods through me as I realise what’s happening. My Blood Rights are activating, severing her bond right before our eyes. The golden threads in my blood sample are reaching for her, hungry for connection.

“Stop the ritual,” I demand, moving to knock the bowl away.

Harlow grabs my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “Wait,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on the tendrils of golden light. “Let it complete.”

“She’s in pain!” I try to pull free, but Harlow’s grip tightens.

“This is remarkable data,” she says, her scientific detachment suddenly chilling.

Dante doesn’t hesitate. He sweeps his arm across the workstation, knocking the ritual bowl to the floor. The blood spills across the parchment, extinguishing the glowing symbols. Immediately, the student’s pain seems to lessen, though confusion remains on her face.

“What just happened?” she asks, looking around wildly. “My sire bond flickered.”

Harlow moves to her side, all professional concern now. “A reaction to your ritual, perhaps. Disrupting the energetic field in the room. How do you feel now?”

“Better,” she says uncertainly. “The connection is back, but... weaker somehow.”

While Harlow tends to her, Dante grips my arm, his expression grim. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Not here,” I whisper, acutely aware of Harlow’s periodic glances in our direction.

We pretend to clean up the spilt ritual materials, Dante positioning himself between me and Harlow’s line of sight. “Your blood was reaching for her,” he murmurs, barely audible. “I could see it—golden threads stretching across the room.”

“I know,” I reply, my hands shaking slightly as I collect broken glass. “It’s happening again.”

“We’ll figure this out,” he promises. “But I don’t trust Harlow. She wasn’t surprised by what happened. She was expecting it.”

I nod, remembering her eagerness to continue the ritual despite the girl’s pain. “Felix told me to observe everything. I think he suspected something about her.”

Professor Harlow returns to our workstation. Her composed manner has returned, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

“An unexpected complication,” she says lightly. “But not without value. Your blood has remarkable properties, Gaida.”

“It was just a bad reaction to the ritual,” I say, trying to sound dismissive.

Harlow smiles, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “Of course. Perhaps we should try a different approach next time.”

She moves off, droning on about stuff that is so far over my head that I can’t even begin to understand what any of this has to do with me and my problem. She moves between students, offering guidance and corrections to work that is nothing but a mangled jumble of words and symbols. Damn Luke. How was this meant to be a good idea?

Harlow’s attention repeatedly returns to me, and whenever she thinks I’m not looking, she writes in a leather-bound journal.

When class finally ends, I gather my things quickly, eager to escape and find Luke. I need to tell him what happened, how my blood nearly severed another bond during a simple demonstration.

“Gaida,” Harlow calls as I reach the door. “A moment, please.”

Dante gives me a questioning look. I nod subtly for him to go ahead, though I can tell he’s reluctant to leave me alone with Harlow.

“I’ll wait outside,” he says pointedly, exiting but leaving the door slightly ajar.

When the others have left, Harlow approaches, that leather journal clutched in her hand. “I wanted to thank you for agreeing to participate today, despite the unexpected outcome.”

“It won’t happen again,” I say firmly. “I should stick to Advanced Blood Magick, I think.”

“On the contrary,” she replies, “you are a good fit for this class.”

“Professor,” an admin assistant knocks on the door. “Professor Blackthorn would like to see you immediately.”

Harlow frowns and looks back at me before saying, “Very well. I will be right there.” She purses her lips, debating whether to say more, but she decides not to and closes her journal. I rise and make a show of leaving, but something is afoot here. Luke has called her out for a reason. I meet Dante outside, and we linger, making a show of discussing something super important, like how many cups of blood we will have for dinner, and watch as Harlow leaves the room. She locks it behind her with a hex that looks nasty as fuck, and I glance at Dante in frustration.

Harlow vanishes, and Felix arrives in her place. “Thought she’d never go,” he mutters. “Got a lock that needs unpicking?” He grins.

“Luke sent you?”

“Yeah.”

“You two seem all nerdy and chummy lately,” Dante observes as Felix picks at the hex lock.

“Academic interests. Nothing more.”

I roll my eyes as the lock breaks, and Felix pushes open the door carefully. We creep inside, and I immediately go to Harlow’s desk and open the drawers. All empty. Tapping the base of the bottom one at random, I discover a false bottom.

“Bingo,” I mutter, yanking the drawer out, turning it over, and banging it hard on the bottom. When I flip the drawer back over, the false bottom has shifted.

“That was too easy,” Dante mutters.

Felix chuckles and waves his fingers, letting us know it was him and not my ham-fisted thump.

“Boo,” I pout at him but shove the bottom aside to see a small wooden box. Picking it up, I open it to reveal a medallion bearing an intricate symbol: a circle containing three intertwined bands, with a single droplet at the centre.

“What is that?” Dante asks, leaning in.

I’m rooted to the spot. The symbol is identical to the one on my father’s ring, the one he never removes.

“What is it?” Felix asks.

“I always thought it was our family crest,” I mutter. “Now… I’m not so sure.”