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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CASSIEL

The air in the courtyard crackles with uncontrolled magic as I struggle to contain the pulsing energy that blasts out from William’s ritual circle. What began as a simple spell to reach Isolde has become a vortex of chaotic power, tearing through the carefully structured magic of SilverGate.

“William, we need to shut it down,” I shout over the howling wind that has manifested from nowhere, whipping my wings out defensively as another surge of energy lashes outward.

William kneels at the centre of the ruined circle, blood seeping from his nose as he frantically tries to rework the ritual components. His runes glow painfully bright under his skin, their pattern disrupted and broken.

“I can’t,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Something’s interfering with the sigils. They’re wrong.”

Around us, students who had gathered to watch the spectacle are paying a heavy price for their curiosity.

Three lie unconscious, their bodies twitching as wild magic courses through them.

Another stands frozen, her skin crystallising into diamond-like facets that spread with each passing second.

Two more students hover several feet off the ground, their bodies contorting as gravity loses its hold on them.

“Help!” a young witch screams, her hands turning to living flame that spreads rapidly up her arms.

I move toward her, but another wave from the ritual circle knocks me backwards, my wings barely shielding me from the brunt of the blast. The magic feels wrong, corrupted somehow, as if the fabric of SilverGate’s arcane foundation is unravelling.

“Cassiel!”

I turn to see Isolde and CJ running across the courtyard. CJ immediately lunges toward one of the floating students, using his vampire speed and strength to pull the boy down and away from the worst of the energy field.

Isolde, however, stops at the edge of the chaos, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something only she can hear. Her eyes widen, then narrow with sudden understanding. Without hesitation, she steps forward, directly into the heart of the magical storm.

“Isolde, no!” I shout, but it’s too late.

The silver light beneath her skin flares to life, brighter than I’ve ever seen it. But there’s something different now, something darker interwoven with the familiar glow. Black lines trace patterns across her forearms and throat, ancient sigils that I recognise from the Sanctuary walls.

She walks calmly through the maelstrom, seemingly untouched by the energies that have incapacitated others. Her hands rise, fingers splayed, and I watch in astonishment as the wild magic flows toward her like water down a drain.

William stares up at her from his position in the ruined circle, his expression unreadable. “It’s working,” he says, though his voice carries a note of uncertainty. “She’s containing it.”

Isolde reaches the centre of the ritual circle and kneels opposite William. Without speaking, she takes his bloody hands in hers, completing a circuit that causes both their bodies to jerk as power sparks between them.

The air around them ripples as the magical backlash subsides.

The floating students drop gently to the ground.

The witch’s flaming hands extinguish, leaving her skin reddened but whole.

The crystallising girl’s transformation halts, though her skin still gleams unnaturally in the fading magical light.

But it’s Isolde who has my focus. The black sigils on her skin are moving, shifting and rearranging themselves like living ink. Her eyes have gone completely silver, reflecting nothing, revealing nothing. When she speaks, her voice carries harmonics that weren’t there before.

“The spell was sabotaged,” she says. “Someone altered the foundation sigils to create a cascading failure.”

William nods grimly, wiping blood from his face. “I felt it the moment I activated the final sequence. Someone knew exactly what I was attempting.”

I spread my wings and move closer, my uncelestial senses detecting patterns in the magical residue that disturb me deeply. The chaos wasn’t random. It was directed, shaped to create maximum damage while appearing accidental.

“Who would have the knowledge to sabotage your work?” I ask William, though I already suspect the answer.

“Someone intimately familiar with Blood Magic and who wanted to keep me away from Isolde,” he replies, his eyes never leaving her as she absorbs the remaining chaotic energy.

“Blackridge, obviously,” CJ growls, joining us in the now-quieting vortex.

“Or someone working under his direction,” I suggest. “Surely he isn’t Headmaster here and working alone on his… whatever he is doing.”

Isolde’s head snaps up suddenly, her silver eyes focusing on something beyond the courtyard. “He’s coming.”

“How do you know that?” William asks.

“You do not want the answer to that,” CJ snarls and moves closer to her, practically pushing her out of the way he is standing that close.

Blackridge appears moments later, striding across the courtyard with that irritating calm that never seems to waver, regardless of the circumstances. Several professors flank him, moving quickly to tend to the injured students.

“Care to share what this was about this time?” Blackridge asks as he reaches us, his black eyes taking in the scene with clinical detachment.

William rises to his feet, his posture stiff with pain and barely suppressed fury. “The spell was sabotaged.”

“A serious accusation,” Blackridge replies mildly. “Do you have evidence to support it?”

“The power flow was deliberately redirected to create a feedback loop. Only someone with administrative access to SilverGate’s foundational magic could have accomplished it.”

Blackridge’s gaze shifts to Isolde, who remains kneeling in the ritual circle, still absorbing the last tendrils of chaotic energy. His expression changes subtly, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features before it’s quickly masked.

“Miss Morvoren,” he says. “Do you have this under control?”

Isolde looks up at him, and something passes between them, an unspoken communication that makes my wings bristle with unease. The black sigils on her skin shimmer once, then fade from view, though I can still sense their presence beneath the surface.

“You can see that I do, and I wonder why.” Her tone is accusing, irritated.

He smirks. It’s self-satisfied, and my stomach clenches. What happened between the two of them?

CJ lets out a dangerous rumbling, his protective instincts obvious in every line of his body. “Stay away from her.”

“Always so suspicious, Mr Aquila,” Blackridge sighs. “Miss Morvoren’s natural affinity for such energies prevented any lasting damage.”

I narrow my eyes, catching the careful phrasing. “Natural affinity?”

“Of course,” Blackridge replies smoothly. “Sanguinarchs have always possessed unique relationships with magical energy. Though I must admit, Miss Morvoren’s capabilities are exceptional.”

His gaze lingers on Isolde again, and I don’t miss how his eyes light up.

“The injured students require medical attention,” Blackridge continues, turning to address the gathering crowd of onlookers. “Professors, please escort them to the infirmary. The rest of you, return to your schedules immediately.”

The courtyard gradually clears as students and staff disperse, many casting curious or fearful glances back at us. Blackridge remains; his attention now focused on the ruined spell circle.

“I expect a full report on this incident by tomorrow morning. Until then, consider yourselves restricted to your rooms.”

“Restricted?” CJ challenges. “We’re not the ones who caused this.”

“Nevertheless, Mr Aquila, until we determine exactly what happened, it would be prudent for the four of you to maintain a low profile.” Blackridge’s tone makes it clear this is not a suggestion. “After all, we wouldn’t want a repeat performance, would we?”

“So, we are grounded? Even from class?” I ask.

“Even from class, Mr Cassiel. For now.”

With that parting remark, he turns and walks away, leaving us standing in the aftermath of magical chaos.

“Fuck that guy,” CJ mutters once Blackridge is out of earshot.

“Something’s wrong,” Isolde says, her voice still carrying those strange harmonics. “The energy was searching.”

“Searching for what?” William asks, helping her to her feet.

“For me,” she whispers.

“That was kind of the idea,” William states with a frown.

“No, not in that way. It was searching for something inside me, and it backfired.”

“Backfired?” William spits out.

She nods.

“We need to get inside,” I say quietly. “This isn’t over.”

CJ nods, his arm slipping protectively around Isolde’s waist.

We move quickly across the courtyard, aware of eyes watching from windows and doorways. The students may have been cleared from the area, but SilverGate has eyes everywhere.

Isolde walks between CJ and William, her steps steady despite the enormous amount of magical energy she’s absorbed. I take the rear, my senses stretched to their limits, scanning for any hint of pursuit or surveillance.

As we near the entrance to the residence building, Isolde suddenly stumbles, her hand flying to her throat. The black sigils flash briefly into visibility again, with what I can only describe as hunger.

“Isolde?” CJ catches her, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, unable to speak for a moment. When she does, her voice has dropped to a whisper. “Something’s changing inside me. I can feel it rearranging things.”

William frowns, his scholarly instincts engaged despite the urgency of our situation. “What do you mean, rearranging?”

“Let’s not do this in the hallway,” I suggest, noting several students slowing their pace to observe us. “We’re already attracting too much attention.”