Page 23

Marigold

The necromancy classroom was nothing like I’d imagined.

Instead of a dark, creepy dungeon, it was bright and open, with tall windows and cushioned practice areas.

Protective symbols in faint blue chalk marked the walls—simple but layered, their power woven deep.

I could feel the traces of magic left behind by past students when I touched the stone, like fingerprints you can still see on glass even after you’ve wiped it down.

It was the first time I had entered a space at Wickem and felt like I belonged.

The class was a mix of upper and lower years, all working in the same space, reinforcing the idea that necromancers learned from one another.

The professor, an older man in a dark suit with Mediterranean features, called together the small group of freshmen—me, Raven, Lucas, and two others.

“Today, we begin with foundational practice,” Professor Undergrove explained. “Given recent vampire activity near Fort Collins, we will focus on defensive techniques. However, understanding the difference between summoning and protection is crucial. First—” He gestured to the diagrams on the board.

“We will start with a protective circle against vampires. This is a fundamental necromantic defense, disrupting their corrupted life force and preventing them from crossing. Mastering this will be essential for your Third Week Trials, where defensive magic will be tested alongside summoning skills.”

A girl near the front raised her hand. “Professor? Is it true that necromancers can sense vampires? Since they’re… you know, dead?”

And a guy asked, “And can we control them?”

Undergrove’s expression turned serious. “Excellent questions. Vampires exist in a unique state between life and death. Most necromancers can sense their presence, but controlling them?” He shook his head.

“That requires exceptional power. The kind not seen since…” His eyes flickered to me for just a moment before he caught himself. “Let’s focus on what you can do.”

“Your father,” Raven whispered, low enough that only I could hear. “He could control them, couldn’t he?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know. Not really. I’d only learned his name ten days ago—learned he was a witch, a necromancer, a traitor. A man I’d never met, never even heard a bedtime story about. Just whispers. Accusations. Shadows shaped by other people’s grief and fear.

So I kept tracing the protective diagram, letting the motion settle me. This, at least, I understood. The shape of the lines, the flow of intention. This was mine. Something solid. Something I could build with my own hands instead of inherited doubt.

“Vampires resist necromantic control because they retain a twisted form of life force,” Undergrove continued. “They are not truly dead but exist in a corrupted state. This makes them uniquely dangerous. The key to defending against them is precision—your magic must create an unbreachable boundary.”

I pressed my palm to the floor, focusing on the symbols. Keane’s voice flickered in my memory: Magic needs a clear path. I exhaled slowly and let the power flow.

The circle responded instantly. Mist coiled along the edges, energy layering in a way that felt structured and solid. The dead things whispered their approval.

“Excellent, Miss Grimley,” Undergrove said, stepping closer. “You’ve reinforced the boundaries naturally. A well-formed protective circle repels before a creature even reaches it.”

“Show off,” Raven whispered, but her grin was proud. Boris, her skeletal beetle, abandoned her carefully drawn circle to investigate mine, clicking its approval.

Lucas was already making notes. “Your energy distribution is incredibly efficient.”

Warmth flickered in my chest. Praise wasn’t something I was used to, but here, it didn’t come with a catch. I had earned it.

Across the room, upperclassmen whispered, their words barely audible. Half-breed. Traitor’s daughter. My spine stiffened.

“Ignore them,” Raven murmured, her protective charms clinking softly.

Undergrove moved on, instructing us to erase our circles and prepare for the next exercise. “A summoning circle functions differently. Instead of repelling, it invites . Instead of rejecting the dead, it calls them forth. Precision remains key.”

Summoning had always come easily to me, but this time, I followed the method carefully. Clear path. Structured flow. The energy formed a perfect lattice as I reached out—not forcing, but requesting . A presence stirred.

A skeletal cat emerged, its form well-defined, energy weaving naturally into place.

“Well done,” Undergrove murmured. “Summonings should be stable, not chaotic.”

For once, my magic wasn’t too much . It was exactly what it needed to be.

As the lesson ended, Professor Undergrove approached. “Your natural affinity is clear,” he said quietly. “But the trials will test more than just necromancy. Have you been practicing the basic magical forms?”

The memory of my failed illumination spell made my cheeks burn. “I’m… working on it.”

He nodded understandingly. “Your father struggled with the traditional forms at first too. But he learned to adapt, to find his own way of working with different types of magic. You will too.”

The mention of my father sent a confused ache through my chest.

“You knew my father?” I asked.

With a conspiratorial look, Professor Undergrove tapped the silver skull on the lapel of his black suit. “All of us necromancers stick together. You should stop by my office hours—we can talk more.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Whatever my father had done—or hadn’t—it didn’t change what I had to face. I couldn’t carry his past and survive mine at the same time.

“I’ve got to work harder,” I said under my breath.

“Hey, we’ve all got Third Week Trials to prepare for,” Raven said. “We’re in this together.”

“I can help review the trial requirements,” Lucas offered. “I’ve been researching past challenges—”

“And we can practice together,” Raven added. “The garden’s perfect for studying in the evenings.”

I hadn’t expected their immediate support. After so many years hiding what I could do, having friends who understood—who wanted to help—still felt surreal.

The cat’s form dissolved as the lesson ended, my magic releasing it smoothly. But I felt other presences watching, approval echoing from the generations who had stood in this same room before me.

I wasn’t just surviving here. I was learning to belong .

The violin music caught me off guard—haunting and beautiful, drifting through the royal wing’s early morning silence.

I paused on the stairs, trying to trace its source, but the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Scout tilted his skull, tail twitching in slow rhythm, as the melody faded.

For once, I’d actually woken up early. The massive breakfast table stretched before me, silver serving dishes steaming with their usual excessive display. Without the weight of the other heirs’ stares, I found myself gravitating toward the pastry section.

“Just this once,” I told Scout, piling my plate with chocolate croissants, cream-filled danishes, and what looked like lemon tarts. My mother would have been horrified at the excess, but after a week of eating just one pastry under their judgmental gazes, the abundance was too tempting to resist.

I settled into my usual spot, relishing the quiet. The first bite of buttery pastry melted in my mouth, and for a brief moment, I found peace in the middle of the battlefield.

Scout investigated the table’s elaborate centerpiece, his crooked black bow tie bobbing proudly with each step. His delicate bones cast intricate, twitching shadows across the tablecloth—like a lace cutout come to life. The dead things whispered contentedly in the walls.

Then footsteps.

Cyrus strode in, fresh from his morning workout and an even more recent shower, wearing only loose training pants and—dear god—no shirt.

His copper hair was still damp, and water droplets trailed slowly down his chest, catching the light.

Overhead, Ember circled lazily, his flames casting a golden glow that highlighted every sculpted line of muscle.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep chewing. My mouth had gone dry.

He stopped short at the sight of me, genuine surprise breaking through his usual mask of indifference. “You’re… early.”

I made a point of taking another bite of my pastry, willing my face to stay neutral.

The temperature in the room rose slightly as he moved toward the coffee pot. I caught him eyeing my plate of sweets, and for a fleeting moment, something like longing crossed his face.

The violin music drifted through again, closer this time, and I couldn’t help asking. “Do you know where that’s coming from?”

Cyrus shrugged, pouring his coffee. But as he took a sip, he grabbed a chocolate croissant with practiced nonchalance, as if hoping I wouldn’t notice.

“The trials start Monday,” he said, voice casual, but there was a weight behind it. As if he was reminding both of us that whatever this was, whatever uneasy truce lingered between us, it would be short-lived.

Before I could answer, Elio swept in—and for the first time, he wasn’t perfectly put together. His usual artfully tousled hair was actually messy, and Echo’s scales cycled through unsettled patterns. He must have been running late, something that almost made me smile.

“Well, well,” he drawled, though it lacked his usual polish. “Someone’s been holding out on us. Sweet tooth, darling?”

I leaned back in my chair, unbothered. “At least I’m on time.”

Cyrus snorted into his coffee, and Elio’s illusions wavered just enough to show a hint of color in his cheeks.

“Some of us have better things to do than arrive early just to hoard pastries,” Elio said smoothly. “Or perhaps just enjoying the view with your breakfast?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

Scout let out a tiny chitter and dramatically covered his eye sockets with his tiny skeletal paws, as if scandalized.

“Oh, please,” I muttered, but I kept my eyes firmly on my plate. Definitely not looking.

Cyrus exhaled sharply, irritated. “Some of us actually train in the morning,” he muttered, but the effect was somewhat undermined by the pastry flakes now clinging to his chest.

“The violin music earlier was beautiful,” I said, watching their reactions. “Does anyone here play?”

Elio’s teasing smile slipped for just a fraction of a second. Echo’s scales turned stormy gray, and Ember’s flames flickered uncertainly. That was interesting.

“I should get dressed,” Cyrus muttered, grabbing another pastry.

“Yes, please do,” Elio replied silkily. “Though I’m sure some of us are enjoying the current view.”

I stood quickly, gathering my plate, and forced myself not to look at Cyrus’s retreating form.

“Maybe during the trials, we’ll all learn something new about each other.” I arched a brow, letting the implication settle. “I wonder what else you two are hiding.”

Elio’s smirk faltered just a touch, and Cyrus nearly tripped over a chair leg on his way out.

Scout chittered, and I could have sworn he was laughing at all of us.