Page 21 of Heir of Shadows (Wickem Academy #1)

Marigold

“Time for spells?” I asked Dr. Reyes, still stinging from my failure to create an orb yesterday.

“Before we attempt any spells,” Dr. Reyes said, “you need to learn how magic actually feels. Close your eyes.”

I hesitated, remembering Elio’s illusion trick last week. “I’d rather keep them open, if that’s okay.”

Understanding flickered across her face. It was amazing how the staff seemed to know about the heirs’ games, but they never stopped them.

“Of course,” she said. “Just focus on your breathing then. Magic moves in currents—some fast and sharp like wind, others steady and strong like stone. You feel it instinctively. Now, we need to help you understand what you’re sensing.”

The energy in the room thrummed like an unseen tide, shifting and pulsing around us.

Some currents were smooth and easy, like air lifting a bird’s wings.

Others felt dense and unmoving, as if pressing against stone.

Scout chittered softly from his perch on my shoulder, reacting to the unseen forces.

“Good.” Dr. Reyes moved around the room, her hands tracing invisible lines in the air.

“Most young witches learn to sense magical flows over years of training. But you’re already picking up on them instinctively.

That’s part of your necromancy—your ability to perceive what lingers beyond the surface. ”

She picked up a book from the stack she’d brought. “Here—what do you feel?”

I stretched my awareness toward the book. “It’s… dense. Solid. Like packed earth or stone warmed by the sun.”

“That’s Professor Rivera’s magic,” she confirmed. “His evocation specializes in earth reinforcement, making spells more durable. Combat witches like him leave strong imprints.”

She lifted another book. “And this one?”

I hesitated. “Lighter. Fast-moving, but with structure. Like… weaving threads in the air.”

“Professor Cribley’s magic,” she said. “Every witch’s magic carries their unique signature. The longer they use magic around the item or in the space, the more their signature accumulates.” She smiled at my surprised look. “Think of it like fingerprints. No two are exactly alike.”

But something else caught my attention—a current that felt different from the others. Wrong somehow. The dead things in the walls grew restless, pulling away from it.

“Some of them feel… strange,” I said carefully, watching her reaction. “Not like Rivera’s or Cribley’s magic. More like…” I remembered how the wellspring’s energy had felt that night—pure and clean—compared to this sticky wrongness.

Dr. Reyes’s expression sharpened with interest. “Strange how?”

“Like oil on water. The dead things don’t like it. They avoid those areas.”

“Interesting.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Most students can’t distinguish between different types of magical flows this early. Your father had a similar sensitivity, though.”

My heart jumped at the casual mention of him. But before I could ask, she continued.

“Try reaching for one of the clean currents,” she instructed. “Don’t try to use it yet—just feel how it moves. Notice how natural magic forms patterns.”

I extended my awareness like she had shown me.

The pure magic felt like sun-warmed water, flowing in natural patterns that made perfect sense.

Scout helped me trace one current across the room, showing me how it connected to others.

It reminded me of how our magic had harmonized during the ceremony—not forced, just… natural.

“The oldest families have the strongest signatures,” Dr. Reyes added. “Their magic has layered itself over generations, reinforcing the spells in spaces they consider their own.”

“So, the royal dorm…” I trailed off, suddenly understanding why the common room felt the way it did. It wasn’t just their presence—it was the centuries of magic before them.

Dr. Reyes nodded. “You’re beginning to see the patterns.”

My necromancy recoiled instinctively as we encountered another wrong flow. The dead things in the walls grew agitated, their warnings more urgent now.

“What happens when you touch the… different currents?” I asked.

“Magic should flow naturally, like water finding its path.” Dr. Reyes demonstrated, her own power moving smoothly through the air.

“Any resistance usually means you’re trying to force it in unnatural ways.

” She hesitated. “Like during the ceremony—did you try to make your magic work with theirs? Or did it simply… happen?”

“It just happened,” I admitted. “Like it knew what to do better than I did.”

Something flickered in her expression—concern? Warning? “You have good instincts about magical currents. Trust them. But be careful who you tell about your sensitivity.”

I gathered my books slowly. “Dr. Reyes? Is it normal for magic to feel so different in different places?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Magic is complex. The important thing is learning to work with natural flows rather than against them.” She paused. “Come see me if you notice anything… unusual. Especially in places where old magic runs deep.”

As Scout and I headed to our next class, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been warning me about something. The dead things whispered more urgently now, drawing my attention to places where wrong magic leaked through otherwise clean flows.

I just wished I understood what it all meant.

Raven and I emerged from the academic building, the crisp mountain air a welcome relief after a morning of lectures and failed spells.

Students moved in shifting clusters around us, their conversations layering like woven threads of magic—some threads bright and warm, others darker, whispering things I didn’t want to hear.

Raven stretched, shaking out her hands. “Death, that class was brutal. If I never have to hear the phrase ‘arcane symbiosis’ again, it’ll be too soon.”

I nodded absently, my fingers drumming against my books. Yesterday still weighed on me—the failed light spell, the way the whispers had followed me down the halls.

But more than that, a lingering unease curled low in my stomach. Like someone was watching me.

Scout chittered softly, his tiny skeletal form pressing closer to my skin. A warning.

And then I saw him.

Keane stood at the entrance to the courtyard, half in shadow, half in the weak afternoon light.

He wasn’t blocking my way, wasn’t even looking directly at me—but he was there, his presence impossible to ignore.

His magic curled and shifted around him, portals flickering in and out of existence like thoughts half-formed and discarded.

Raven noticed my silence and followed my gaze. “Are we avoiding him, or pretending he doesn’t exist? Just need to know so I can adjust accordingly.”

My grip tightened on my books. “We’re walking past him like he’s just another heir who stood by and watched.”

Raven’s expression turned unreadable, but she didn’t argue.

We stepped forward. Keane’s head lifted slightly, his gaze flickering toward me for the briefest moment before he looked away again.

The muscle in his jaw flexed, his fingers tightening at his sides as his magic flared—just for a second—before he forced it back down.

He was trying to keep his distance. Trying to do exactly what I had told myself I wanted.

So why did it make my pulse pound?

Scout bristled against my shoulder, sensing the conflict knotting inside me.

I could still feel Keane’s presence even as I passed him, like the ghost of fingertips skimming my skin. He wasn’t touching me. Wasn’t saying anything.

Raven must have felt it too, because she glanced between us, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “You know,” she said lightly, “for someone you’re ignoring, you’re very aware of him.”

“I’m not—” I cut myself off, forcing my shoulders to stay straight as I kept walking. “He doesn’t matter.”

A lie. One that tasted bitter on my tongue.

We had nearly passed him completely when Keane finally moved. His voice was quiet, but it slid through the air like the edge of a blade. “I heard about the orb lesson.”

I froze mid-step, then forced myself to keep going. “Hope it was entertaining.”

He didn’t reply immediately. Just watched me, his magic curling inward like he was holding something back. Then, softer, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

I hesitated. For a breath, I wanted to turn, wanted to demand what he did mean. But the memory of his silence in the common room, at The Cauldron, at every moment when I had needed someone to stand up for me, slammed through me like a wall. I clenched my jaw and kept walking.

He let me go.

And I hated that part of me had wanted him to stop me.