Page 5

Marigold

The cathedral doors of Wickem loomed like something out of a gothic horror novel. Big, dramatic, and absolutely judging me.

My legs trembled as I climbed the stone steps, still reeling from the overwhelming symphony of death magic saturating the grounds. Each whisper from the dead felt like silk against my skin—intimate and unsettling, and each shadow seemed to caress me as I passed.

The entrance hall stretched impossibly high, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows that even the floating orbs of light couldn’t penetrate.

Ancient magic thrummed through the stone columns, their carved symbols shifting and flowing like living things when I wasn’t looking directly at them.

The dead things whispered about generations of students who’d walked these halls—some who’d never left, their presence lingering in every shadow.

Ms. Parker guided me through polished wooden doors marked ‘Administration’.

Behind an imposing desk sat a man with steel-gray hair and glasses, his pristine suit making my travel-worn clothes feel even shabbier. The nameplate read “Mr. Fernsby, Director of Student Services.”

“Miss Grimley.” His voice was hard.

“It’s Brook, actually.” The name Mom had given me, the only name I’d known for eighteen years.

Mr. Fernsby’s lips thinned. “Grimley was your father’s name, and as his heir, it is your proper title here.” He shuffled through my paperwork with precise, irritated movements. “Three days late for orientation. Not an auspicious start.”

“I’ve always used Brook,” I insisted, but Mr. Fernsby was already moving on, sliding my student ID across his pristine desk. Sure enough, it shimmered with “Marigold Grimley” in elegant script. I squinted at the half-way decent photo of me. When had they even taken it? I’d only just arrived.

“You are your father’s daughter.” His disapproval was clear in every crisp syllable. “The sooner you accept that reality, the better. Your unusual background will make things challenging enough.”

The way he said “unusual” made it clear exactly what he thought of traitors’ daughters in his precious school—or maybe it was half-human witches. Either way, I’d heard that tone before, from a hundred rich clients who saw the servants as less than human. Oh joy, a whole new way to be hated.

“Ms. Wallace will show you around,” he said, clearly eager to be rid of me.

A woman stepped out from a nearby office, her sapphire blazer complementing her warm brown skin. Her smile at least seemed genuine, though something about it niggled at my senses. The dead things in the walls grew restless, whispering warnings I couldn’t quite catch.

Parker’s phone buzzed. “Councillor Raynoff needs me.” She squeezed my shoulder. “You’ll be fine with Ms. Wallace.”

I nodded, feeling a bit bereft as the only person I knew disappeared.

“Come along,” Ms. Wallace said, her voice kind and professional.

I was going to be alright.

That calm lasted precisely until we stepped into the main hall. Wallace’s form shimmered like heat waves, transforming into something altogether different.

Where Wallace had been all business and brisk efficiency, the guy in front of me was pure charm wrapped in designer smugness. Pale blonde hair, tousled like someone had spent a fortune making it look effortless. Ice-blue eyes sparkled with mischief—and the kind of precision that could cut.

He moved like he knew exactly how he looked: lean, polished, and unfairly good at wearing clothes that probably cost more than my entire existence. My mouth went dry, which was just rude of my body, honestly.

“Much better,” he purred. “Playing nice is exhausting.”

I watched as he stretched like a cat—fluid and smug. He looked like a swimmer: sleek on the surface, power underneath.

No, I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not again. Not another pretty guy.

“Where’s Ms. Wallace?” I demanded.

“Oh, she’s probably still in her office.” He smiled, all cheekbones and trouble—gorgeous and sharp enough to cut if you weren’t careful. “Lovely woman, but far too… pedestrian to give tours to royal heirs. After all, we must maintain certain standards.”

His gaze swept over me, lazy and practiced, dragging across my thrift-store outfit like it personally offended him.

And yeah, okay—my brain clocked the insult. But my body? Still stuck on smile like sin, voice like velvet.

The dead things whispered urgent warnings. Not that I needed the reminder—charming rich guys were the most hazardous clients.

The ones who thought power could buy anything.

Or anyone.

“Who are you?”

“Elio Lightford.” He gave an elaborate bow that managed to be both graceful and mocking. “The sexiest Council heir,”—he gave a wink—”and your new guide to all things Wickem.”

Another heir. Seriously, how many of them were there? Parker had mentioned four Council seats—three now that my father was gone—but there was no way all of them were like this: beautiful, deadly, and radiating enough arrogance to flatten a city block.

The hall twisted around us, walls flowing like water as my orientation papers transformed into butterflies that scattered on the wind. I tried to grab them but they dissolved at my touch, leaving only the phantom sensation of wings against my skin.

With a swipe of Elio’s hand, my suitcase developed a mind of its own, tearing itself from my grasp and rolling away. I swallowed.

“Now then. Let’s begin the real tour, shall we?” His voice wrapped around me like silk; sweet and hypnotic. His pale blue eyes caught mine and my mind went foggy.

I was a sucker for pretty boys, and he was the most gorgeous I’d ever seen. I swayed closer. Everything else seemed to fade away except his gaze. His smile was dazzling, perfect—how had I ever thought it looked cruel?

“Come here, darling,” he purred, holding out one elegant hand.

Suddenly, all I wanted was to please him, to do whatever he asked.

I smiled, taking a step forward, drawn by an overwhelming need to be closer to him.

The voices of the dead things seemed distant, muffled by the honey-sweet fog in my mind.

They seemed disturbed, but how could they be in the face of such perfection?

“That’s it. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

I nodded dreamily. Of course I did. Nothing else mattered except his approval, his beautiful smile, his…

The dead things surged without warning, their frantic energy ripping through the enchantment—cold and jarring, like ice water in my veins. I stumbled back, gasping as my mind cleared. Horror and fury rushed in to replace the artificial devotion.

“How dare you—” I started, but his musical laugh cut me off.

“Oh, very good!” He exclaimed. “Most people don’t break free at all. But I’m up to the challenge.” Then he winked, and the floor vanished in front of my feet.

I stumbled back with a cry, heart hammering as I caught a glimpse of the twenty-foot drop into darkness. Cold air rose from the depths—but was it real? He’d already shown me he could twist what I saw, what I felt.

But that knowledge didn’t make my terror any less.

His musical laugh echoed around me. “Quick reflexes,” he said, somehow from right beside me. “But let’s see how you handle real challenges.”

“Like enchanting me wasn’t enough?” I spat, backing away.

“Oh, darling,” he said, running his hand down the side of my cheek and making me tremble. “That was just a greeting.”

He slid away, and three halls appeared where there had been one. In each, Elio beckoned with that same sharp smile. “Choose wisely. Though I doubt you will,” he said, with a casual shrug.

I couldn’t trust my eyes. Couldn’t trust any of my senses after what he’d done to my mind. But the dead things—they’d broken through his enchantment. Maybe they could tell me what was real. So I watched them, and took a step toward one of the halls.

A skeletal mouse squeaked a warning. One of the Elios transformed into a snarling lion, massive and golden. Real or not, my body reacted with pure terror as it lunged. I stumbled back, a scream catching in my throat.

Raw power surged through me in response to my fear.

Tiny skeletal defenders erupted from the stones—not just mice this time but rats, squirrels, birds, anything that had ever died in these halls.

They formed a barrier between me and the lion, their bones clicking and chattering with shared purpose.

I swallowed, my heart still beating frantically.

I had no idea how I’d done that, or if I could do it again.

Just like the mice at the Conrads, they’d responded to my emotions.

“Fascinating,” Elio purred from the other corridors. Both versions of him watched with predatory interest. “Such power, even if it is crude.”

Heat prickled down my spine, and I spun to find the copper-haired guy from the airport—Cyrus.

Gone was the expensive jacket from the airport; now he wore a fitted black tee and dark jeans—simple, but somehow more dangerous.

Like he didn’t need designer layers to look lethal.

The casualness only emphasized the coiled strength in his broad shoulders.

His amber eyes reflected very real flames as he studied me. “Playing games, Elio?” His voice was deep enough to feel in my bones.

“She needs to learn her place.”

Fire erupted from his hands, and this, I knew was real.

The heat seared my skin as flames circled me, creating a ring that began slowly closing in.

My skeletal defenders scattered, their tiny bones blackening in the intense heat, and it was just me and the flames.

I curled in on myself, trying to keep my body away from them. Smoke filled my lungs, and I coughed.

I reached desperately for more dead things, panic giving my power an edge. They answered—a wall of bones rising between me and the fire. But the flames kept coming, eating through my defenses. Real danger, not just illusion.

“Interesting pets you have,” Elio purred, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. “Let’s see how well they follow orders.”

Something moved in the shadows beyond the flames—too fast, too fluid to be natural. Red eyes gleamed as pale figures emerged, inhumanly graceful. Vampires. Like the ones from the Conrads’. But were they real, or just more of Elio’s tricks?

The vampires blurred forward with supernatural speed. I tried calling more dead things, but between the closing ring of fire and my own terror, I couldn’t focus. The power was there, raw and desperate, but I couldn’t control it.

Then cold fingers seized my arm, grip like iron.

Fear shot through me as fangs gleamed inches from my throat.

My necromancy exploded outward in pure panic—and suddenly every dead thing in the building seemed to answer at once.

The walls themselves groaned as centuries of tiny skeletons burst forth, a tsunami of bones drowning everything in their path.

“Enough.”

A shimmering window appeared—like Ms. Parker’s portal from earlier. Through it stepped another boy—lean and intense, dark hair falling into storm-colored eyes. A spectral fox curled around his shoulders, its misted form flickering with quiet menace.

Silver light exploded from the portals around him, flooding the hallway. The vampires recoiled—then shattered like glass, dissolving into mist and shadow. Illusions. Every last one.

My breath caught.

Of course they weren’t real. Just more smoke and mirrors. More magic thrown in my face without warning.

My hands were still shaking. My magic buzzed wild under my skin, raw and twitchy like it hadn’t figured out the threat was over.

I didn’t know what kind of test this was supposed to be, but I was already over it.

Raw power still surged through me, making the dead things chitter and swarm protectively. I couldn’t control them, couldn’t stop them—wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

“She’s an heir,” the new boy said quietly. “You can’t actually kill her.” He said it in such a casual way as if they could murder me if I’d been anyone else and I wasn’t sure which scared me more.

“Just teaching her where she belongs,” Cyrus snarled.

“Seriously?” My voice wavered, but I didn’t care. “That’s your idea of a lesson? Mind games? Monsters? Fire?”

Elio’s mask cracked for just a moment. The corridors melted back into one.

“Brave little mouse, aren’t you?” he asked with a sly smile. “Even when you’re clearly outmatched.”

His words stung more than I wanted to admit. My pride wanted to spit something back—but my magic was still fizzing under my skin like a live wire, and I didn’t trust my voice not to shake.

Then the quiet one spoke.

“I’m Keane Alstone, and I’m also an heir,” he said, blue eyes locking on mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “The royal dorms are this way. I’ll show you.”

Another heir. Of course there was another one . Because apparently one smug firestarter and a smirking demigod weren’t enough—I needed the full set. Each of them impossibly powerful. Gorgeous. Unbothered.

And me? I’d just found out I was a witch, and my magic was still rattling inside me like it hadn’t figured out what body it belonged to. Which, honestly, same.

This was supposed to be my world now. So why did it already feel like I didn’t belong?

“No more tricks,” Keane promised, gesturing toward the perfectly normal-looking hallway between the administration offices and a closed campus store.

I wanted to refuse his help—wanted to prove I didn’t need saving from rich boys and their games. But I could still feel the vampire’s cold grip, the echo of Elio’s enchantment thrumming in my skull.

The hallway looked normal now. But I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust any of this.

As we walked, Cyrus muttered, “She’s stronger than she looks.”

“Indeed,” Elio said.

I followed Keane, doing my best not to look as rattled as I felt. The dead things slunk back into the walls, but I could still feel them—watching, waiting, whispering.

Three heirs. All terrifying. All unfairly pretty.

And none of them made me feel like I belonged here.