Page 24

Marigold

Dr. Reyes arranged several objects on the table before me, each pulsing with faint magic. A silver compass, an old spellbook, a small vial of shimmering dust.

“Let’s test your sensitivity to different magical currents,” she said, watching me closely.

Scout twitched on my shoulder, his tiny bones clicking as he sniffed the air, the frayed black bow tie at his neck fluttering with the movement.

I could already feel the magic humming around us, but now that I was paying attention, the differences were startling.

The compass’s magic felt solid, unmoving—like stone warmed by the sun, steady and unwavering.

But the spellbook—it felt wrong. Not just old, but altered, twisted in a way that made my skin prickle.

The dead things in the walls whispered uneasily.

I pressed my fingers against the book’s leather cover, feeling the magic underneath. “This one’s… forced. Like someone tried to shove magic into a shape it wasn’t meant to be. It doesn’t flow right.”

Dr. Reyes nodded, her expression unreadable. “Good. And the compass?”

“Grounded. Rooted. Like… something that won’t break, no matter what pushes against it.”

“That’s Professor Rivera’s signature,” she said. “His magic aligns with earth—sturdy, enduring, resistant to outside influence. But the book—” She tapped it lightly. “That magic has been restrained, shaped unnaturally.”

I frowned. “Why would someone force magic like that?”

Before she could answer, the classroom door opened. Keane stood there, pausing as he caught sight of me. His usual composed presence seemed off—his portals flickered at his fingertips, their edges darker than before.

He frowned slightly, like he hadn’t expected anyone to be here. Was he delivering a message? Picking something up? Whatever it was, he didn’t linger—until our magic brushed.

The same wrongness I’d felt in the book threaded through his magic.

The dead things in the walls recoiled. Scout tensed. And before I even thought about it, I reached for my own magic, letting it brush against the edges of his.

The darkness shuddered, then—

For just a second, his portal lightened. Silver, steady, pure.

Keane inhaled sharply, as if feeling the shift. His eyes snapped to mine, startled.

And then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his expression hardening. The shadows crept back into his magic like ink bleeding into water. He turned without a word and strode down the hallway, his posture tight.

Dr. Reyes exhaled slowly, considering me. “Interesting.”

My pulse was still racing. “What? What was that?”

She studied me for a moment before answering. “Your father noticed similar anomalies in his research. Magic being redirected. Corrupted. And—on rare occasions—something pushing back against that corruption.”

I stared at her. “Pushing back how?”

Dr. Reyes picked up the compass again, rolling it between her fingers. “Some magic resists being forced into unnatural patterns. And some people—very rare people—can sense when magic is… out of place.”

I swallowed hard, my mind spinning. “Is that why the Council—”

“That’s enough for today,” she interrupted, suddenly cool. “Be careful, Marigold. Not everyone appreciates their methods being questioned.”

The dead things murmured warnings. And for the first time, I listened.

Lunch with Raven and Lucas had almost felt normal. Almost.

The dining hall buzzed with students, the scent of roasted chicken and fresh bread mingling with the faint crackle of background magic. I was mid-bite into my sandwich, actually enjoying myself, when a slow, creeping warmth curled around my skin.

At first, I barely noticed. It was September, and the hall was packed—body heat alone could explain the shift. I rolled up my sleeves and kept eating.

Then the warmth turned into a slow burn. My skin prickled. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine.

I set my sandwich down, pressing my palms against the cool wood of the table. “Is it just me, or is it—”

“Hot?” Raven frowned. “No, it’s fine.”

Lucas gave me a confused look. “Feels normal to me.”

A slow ripple of laughter carried across the hall. And that’s when I knew.

I didn’t have to look to know where he was. But I did anyway.

Cyrus lounged at a table across the way, perfectly composed, stirring his coffee like he hadn’t just turned my body into a damn furnace. His amber eyes met mine across the room, gleaming with quiet amusement.

The heat surged. My skin flushed, fire curling low in my stomach—not the good kind, the kind that made my limbs weak and my breath come short.

I sucked in air, but it was thick and stifling. My vision blurred at the edges. My magic stirred, instinctive, reaching for the cool touch of the dead things in the walls— fight back , they whispered.

I clenched my fists, pulse hammering. What could I even do in a room this full? Summon a dozen rats onto the table? Call up a ghost in the middle of lunch?

Scout chittered anxiously, his tiny claws digging into my shoulder.

No. Not here. Not like this.

But the panic made my control slip. Shadows curled unnaturally beneath my fingers. Plates rattled along the table. The half-eaten sandwich on my plate molded over in an instant, black decay spreading across the bread.

Lucas cursed and yanked his tray away. Raven’s eyes widened.

Laughter.

A single, sharp whistle from across the hall. Elio.

The temperature spiked higher—Cyrus’s final shove.

A small portal bloomed silently beside me, barely the size of a coin.

Through it flowed a whisper of cool air, breaking the heat just enough for me to catch my breath.

It vanished instantly, but not before Scout noticed, his tiny skull turning toward a far corner of the room.

My gaze followed and I caught a glimpse of Keane, head bowed over a book, one hand slightly extended beneath the table.

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes met mine for half a second before returning to his page.

I reached for my water glass—except my grip slipped, and suddenly, ice-cold liquid sloshed down my front.

A few gasps. More laughter.

I sucked in a breath, blinking down at my soaked shirt. The wet fabric clung to me, and of course I’d chosen white today.

Across the hall, Elio raised his glass in a mock toast.

“Oops,” Cyrus murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

Raven was already grabbing napkins, muttering something murderous under her breath, while Lucas looked seconds away from hexing someone. But what could they do against heirs? Even the teachers looked the other way.

My hands curled against the table. My power still pressed at the edges of my control, itching for release.

And I wanted to use it. Wanted to see their smirks falter. Wanted to watch them scramble when the dead things responded.

But this wasn’t the time. Not in front of everyone.

So I forced the power back down, locking it away with gritted teeth.

Then, very deliberately, I met Cyrus’s gaze again.

And I smiled .

A slow, measured thing.

His own smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second—just enough to let me know he hadn’t expected that.

Fine. He wanted to remind me of my place?

I’d let him have his victory today. But my day was coming.

And when the time came, I’d make damn sure he regretted this.

As I gathered my things to leave, a tiny, folded note appeared through another fleeting portal on the edge of my tray. I slipped it into my pocket without looking.

Later, alone in my room, I’d find the simple message: Your control today. Impressive.