Page 1 of Faeheart (Widdershins Supernatural Academy #2)

Elias

T he problem with having everything is knowing exactly how much you have to lose.

I stared out the window of the Thorne estate in Northern California, watching as the gardeners, a mixture of bound elementals and human staff, trimmed the impossibly perfect hedges into even more perfect shapes.

Mother insisted they be crafted to resemble the great magical beasts of old.

There were phoenixes, griffins, and dragons galore in the garden.

In fact, the topiary dragon exhaled a small plume of actual fire, an enchantment Father had added last spring that he was particularly proud of.

It was the most excitement I had to look forward to most days.

“Elias, darling, are you listening?” Mother’s voice cut through my thoughts, precise as a silver athame.

“Yes, Mother,” I replied automatically, turning away from the window. The formal dining room stretched before me, all dark mahogany and crystal chandeliers that had been in the Thorne family for generations.

“As I was saying, your father and I have discussed your final year at Widdershins. We expect nothing less than excellence, particularly in Advanced Conjuration. The Blackwood woman speaks highly of your potential.” She sipped her tea, pinky extended, not a hair out of place in her immaculate chignon.

“Yes, Mother.” The words felt worn from overuse.

“The Cromwell boy won’t be returning, I hear. Such a shame about Damien. Powerful bloodline, if a bit... unconventional in his methods.” Her lips pursed slightly. “His son… What was his name?”

“Caden,” I supplied.

“Yes, Caden. Frightfully shy thing when I met him. Nothing like his father.” She waved her hand dismissively. “In any case, you’ll be the most powerful witch in your year. You must represent the Thorne name accordingly.”

I nodded, staring at my untouched scone. Two months sailing the magical currents between Singapore and California, attending formal dinners with other prominent witch families, practicing prescribed spells under Father’s watchful eye, and still, I felt as empty as when we’d left.

Was that all my life was going to be? A never-ending series of parties, careful magic, and polite conversation? As I stared out the window, I felt as if I’d already lived the entire thing. And to be honest, I found it wanting.

Not that I’d ever say that out loud.

“Elias.” Father’s voice boomed from the doorway. He strode in with purpose, his tailored robes swishing around his ankles. “I’ve just received word from the Dean. The curriculum this year will include a special project. You’ll be part of an independent study for those with sufficient power.”

Mother’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when there was an opportunity for me to showcase the Thorne family superiority. “How marvelous! What perfect timing. Elias has been practicing diligently all summer.”

I hadn’t, not really. I’d gone through the motions, of course, but my heart hadn’t been in it. The structured spells Father insisted upon felt like chains rather than channels for my magic.

“It’s an excellent opportunity,” Father continued, taking his seat at the head of the table. He snapped his fingers, and a conjured servant appeared with his morning coffee. “Only three students have been selected.”

“And Elias is one of them,” Mother said, not a question but a statement of fact.

Father nodded. “Along with someone I’ve never heard of and...” He paused, frowning slightly. “Caden Cromwell.”

I nearly choked on the sip of tea I’d finally taken. “Caden? But I thought he wasn’t returning.”

Mother’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together. “I thought you said?—”

“Apparently,” Father cut in, “the boy has shown unexpected promise. After Damien’s passing, certain... abilities have manifested.”

The way he said it made my skin prickle. There was something Father wasn’t saying, something important.

“What kind of independent study?” I asked, suddenly interested in a way I hadn’t been in months.

Father’s eyes gleamed. “Ancient magic. Pre-colonial. The kind that doesn’t follow the rules we’ve established.”

Mother’s teacup clattered against its saucer. “Surely you don’t mean?—”

“Wild magic,” Father confirmed. “Untamed, raw power. The kind the first witches channeled before we codified our practices.”

My heart raced. Wild magic was forbidden at Widdershins except in theoretical study. It was unpredictable, dangerous, and utterly fascinating.

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate,” Mother began, but Father silenced her with a look.

“The Thorne family has always led magical innovation,” he said firmly. “And Elias is more than capable of handling this challenge. Aren’t you, son?”

It wasn’t really a question. It never was with Father. But for once, I found myself genuinely wanting what was being offered to me.

“Yes, Father,” I replied, and this time, the words had my approval behind them.

Later that afternoon, as I packed my suitcases for the return to Widdershins, I found myself pausing over an old photograph.

It had been taken three years ago, at the Winter Solstice Gala on campus.

I was a freshman then and new to Widdershins Academy.

There were several friends around me, witches from high-ranking families like me, that were trying to make their parents proud.

That was the year I felt most like myself. It was my first time out of the house and on my own. I allowed myself to cut loose a little, to have some fun. But when my grades came in at the end of the year and I’d gotten less than top marks in my evocation class, my parents nearly lost their minds.

That summer that followed was one of the hardest of my life.

My father took it upon himself to drill me day and night in every bit of magic he thought I should know.

Meanwhile, what little free time I did have was chaperoned by my mother, who decided she needed to find the right sort of friends for me to be involved with.

Since that summer, I’d not gone to a party on campus, hung out with friends outside of mealtimes, or done anything except homework, it seemed.

The professors were given special instructions to keep me busy, and that’s exactly what they did.

Because of all that, I was one of the strongest witches at the academy.

But also, one that nobody would miss should I not come back to school for my senior year.

I set the photograph down and continued packing, methodically folding each robe and organizing my ritual components by elemental correspondence.

Mother insisted on this system. Fire elements went into red silk pouches, water in blue, and so on.

It was efficient, I had to admit, but sometimes I wondered what it might be like to just.. . throw things in a bag and go.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

“Come in,” I called, closing the silver clasp on my enchanted luggage.

Varina, our house witch, entered with a small wooden box in her hands. Though technically our servant, she’d been with the family since before I was born and sometimes felt more like an aunt than staff.

“Your grandmother asked me to bring you this to you when the time was right,” she said, her voice low as if sharing a secret. She set the box on my desk, her weathered hands lingering on the carved lid. “Considering your acceptance into this special project, I think now is the time.”

“What is it?” I asked, approaching cautiously. Magic emanated from the box in subtle waves. It was old magic, not the clean, sterile kind Father typically approved of.

Varina’s eyes twinkled. “Some of your grandmother’s personal things. It’s from a time before the Thorne family became quite so... structured.”

My curiosity piqued, I reached for the box, but Varina placed her hand over mine.

“Your father doesn’t know what’s in here,” she whispered. “Your grandmother was not always the proper witch your parents remember. She had... adventures. And ambition. And talent… so much talent.”

“Adventures?” The word tasted foreign and exciting on my tongue.

Varina nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “The Thornes weren’t always about perfect hedges and formal teas, you know. There was a time when your family’s name inspired both awe and a little fear.” She patted my hand. “Don’t tell your mother I said that.”

“Thank you, Varina,” I said, holding the box in my trembling hands. “I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Good idea,” she smiled, patting me on the shoulder. “Now finish your packing and don’t forget to have a little fun this year, okay?”

I smiled, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Thank you.”

After she left, I opened the box carefully.

Inside lay an assortment of items that looked nothing like the pristine magical tools I was accustomed to.

There was a small bone knife with strange carvings along the handle, a vial of what appeared to be quicksilver but moved with too much purpose, and a leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age.

I picked up the journal, feeling a jolt of connection as my fingers touched the worn cover.

Opening to a random page, I found spells written in my grandmother’s flowing script.

They were spells unlike any I’d studied at Widdershins.

Spells with emotion woven into their very construction, with variables rather than constants, with room for improvisation.

Wild magic.

My pulse quickened as I flipped through more pages. This wasn’t the rigid, formulaic magic my father practiced. This was magic that breathed and adapted, that required the witch to be fully present rather than merely precise. It was more like a prayer and less like writing an equation.

A folded piece of paper slipped from between the pages.

I unfolded it to find a photograph I’d never seen before—my grandmother, young and vibrant, her hair flowing freely around her shoulders.

She was standing arm-in-arm with a tall, willowy figure whose features seemed to shift the longer I stared.

The stranger’s hair appeared to be made of autumn leaves and copper wire, their eyes unnaturally bright against skin that seemed to glow from within.

A fae. My grandmother had known a fae. Not only that, she was standing in front of the Seelie Court, a place not in our world.

On the back of the photograph, in the same flowing script as the journal, were the words: “ Briar Hall, Summer Solstice. The night I learned that rules are merely suggestions to those brave enough to bend them .”

I sat heavily on my bed, the photograph trembling in my hands.

Everything I’d been taught about the fae, their dangerous beauty, their trickster ways, their wild, untamed magic, rushed through my mind.

And here was my grandmother, looking happier than I’d ever seen her in family portraits, embracing one.

Had Father seen this? Did he know?

Sure, there were a few fae students at school, but even friendships were rare between my kind and theirs.

Outside of the academy, it was even more so.

Witches kept to the mortal plane. Fae, on the other hand, had a tendency to return to their own plane of existence where they could be wild and free with reckless abandon.

From what little I’d studied, it seemed like a chaotic place where humans, even magical ones, stood little chance of surviving.

The sound of my mother’s heels clicking down the hallway sent me scrambling to return everything to the box. I slipped the journal into my personal satchel instead, heart hammering as if I’d committed some terrible transgression. Perhaps I had.

“Elias?” Mother called through the door. “The car will be ready in twenty minutes. Do be punctual.”

“Yes, Mother,” I replied, voice steadier than I felt.

After she moved on, I sat staring at the wooden box, its contents now a secret between me and my long-dead grandmother. Something shifted inside me. There was a curiosity, a hunger for something beyond the carefully curated life I’d been living.

Wild magic. Pre-colonial practices. And now, a hint that my family’s past wasn’t as pristine as my parents pretended. For the first time in years, I felt a genuine thrill of anticipation about returning to Widdershins Academy.