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The grand foyer had never felt grander.

It buzzed with that odd kind of excitement that only happens at the start of something. Nervous chatter, shoes scuffing polished stone, the occasional magical spark floating off a shoulder or bag. And it was all held together with joyous laughter.

I couldn’t blame them. Day one was here. Officially.

The chandelier above glimmered with early sunlight, casting flecks of gold across the crowd. The stained-glass windows along the corridor shimmered faintly, adjusting their color like they couldn’t decide how best to impress the newcomers.

I stood by the broad stone staircase with a stack of schedules hugged to my chest, and my dad sitting loyally at my feet. His jowls quivered every time a new student passed, but he stayed still—noble, alert, already in full professor mode. I reached down and scratched behind his ear.

I heard a voice that always made me smile and think back to the day I’d mistaken him for a gremlin. Twobble sidled up to me and grinned.

“What’s first on the agenda?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Schedules.”

He nodded with a wicked grin. “That’s right. We’ve got to get these witches where they belong. Get some learning on.”

I chuckled and shook my head as I handed him his own schedule.

“Wait. What?” He furrowed his brows.

“You’re the first student to arrive at the doorstep. It makes sense you’re the first to get their schedule.”

“I just thought I’d follow you around all day.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You’d be bored to death.”

“Untrue, but I’ll set a good example and go where I’m told.” He scanned the sheet of paper, and his gaze lit up. “Nice.”

“What’s that?”

“First class this morning is with Stella and becoming the best kitchen witch you can.” He stared at me for a reaction, but kept going. “So, you know snacks .”

“Ah, right. The important things in magic school.” I scanned the crowd and sighed. “Okay. Showtime.”

Nova arrived first with her boots clicking smartly across the floor. Her emerald robe rippled behind her.

“I hope someone else brought a lesson plan,” she said, deadpan. “I woke up thinking I’d just wing it and see if I remember how to teach people not to implode.”

“Strong start,” I said, handing her a schedule. “It looks like you’re teaching Seer 101 with Impractical Boundaries . Sounds good.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So I am already stretching the truth?”

Before I could answer, Ember slipped in next. She moved like smoke over water, and it was always a little unsettling.

Her cloak was moss green today, and she offered me a faint smile and a graceful nod. She turned to survey the foyer, as if memorizing every stone placement on the walls.

“Welcome back,” I said, pressing a schedule into her hand.

“I never left,” she said.

Right. Of course, she hadn’t.

Bella snuck in next, but I’d become more accustomed to her swift moves and sneaky entrances.

“We’ve already got a few sneaky witches around here,” she huffed. “I found a couple of ladies making bets on who could get to breakfast first without taking any of the main corridors.”

“That’s an easy way to get swallowed up by the Academy.” I chuckled and shook my head.

“Or spit out,” Twobble grumbled. “I should know. The flight out of here is always harsh and with an improper landing, I might add.”

“Definitely not for the faint of heart.”

Ardetia, with her tall and fae stature, wearing her eternally unimpressed expression, glided into the foyer like she’d been carved from moonlight and distant judgment.

She did not take a schedule. She simply accepted it as if it had already belonged to her.

“You’re assigned to Intro to Herbalism and... Creative Greenweaving,” I said, peering down at the notes. “Sounds fun.”

She didn’t blink but stared right at me. “You look like you saw a dead person.”

I flinched at the suggestion and glanced over at Ember, worried that it might be deemed offensive, and Ember just chuckled.

“Rough dream.” I shrugged. “I think. I can’t remember.”

She eyed me and nodded slowly. “Hedge Witch remnants.”

“If that’s what you want to call them, sure.” I nodded.

My dad let out a low bark that sounded a lot like amusement. The faculty was officially gathered.

A clamor of footsteps announced a wave of students. I straightened, smoothing my sweater, as the energy shifted, and the doors opened wide.

Women poured into the grand foyer, and it never felt more alive. Some laughed, others whispered, and some held hands or pulled shawls tighter around their shoulders.

But every single one of them had that look.

You know, the maybe-this-isn’t-real look. I recognized it because I’d worn it myself just a few weeks ago.

Who was I kidding? I wore it a few minutes ago.

“Here we go,” I murmured to my dad, and he gave a dignified snort of agreement.

I handed out schedules as fast as I could, calling names and waving people toward their designated classrooms.

They moved like schools of fish, floating in and out of groups and new beginnings, like it was the start of something big.

And it was.

Stella’s voice interrupted my thoughts as she let out a deep laugh.

“Well, would you look at that,” she said, conjuring a tray of fresh scones like the magical goddess she was. “Is that Mara Flinch?”

Mara looked up from her paper and lit up. “Stella of the Honey Spoon?”

Stella laughed. “Haven’t been called that in years.”

Mara practically sprinted over and wrapped Stella in a hug, her velvet sleeves flaring dramatically. “You made me a cinnamon tonic once that knocked the heartbreak right out of me.”

“You’re welcome,” Stella said, smoothing her curls with an air of pride. “I bottle that kind of therapy now and sell it to unsuspecting souls.”

Vivienne and Lady Limora weren’t far behind, with Opal close to their side. Stella’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she took them in.

“I thought I recognized you,” she said. “You used to visit the market stalls during the equinox festivals.”

Lady Limora gave her a small, regal nod. “Your apple tarts were considered a minor enchantment in my circles.”

“Still are,” I said. “She’s teaching here now.”

Opal’s eyes brightened. “You’re staying?”

Stella smiled and gave her a wink. “Someone has to make sure your tea doesn’t curdle mid-spell. I’ll be here in between running my shop in town.”

That earned an actual giggle from Opal, and I tucked that little sound into my chest for safekeeping.

Stella grinned at me and gave a nod toward her friends. “In case you don’t know, they’re all vampires.”

I chuckled and nodded. “Believe it or not, I was pretty certain that was the case.”

As the foyer began to thin and students drifted off to their classes or toward breakfast, I finally leaned against the banister at the base of the stairs, letting the thrill of the room soak into me.

Nova appeared beside me, her schedule folded into a paper phoenix.

“You realize we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing,” she said.

“I know.”

Bella arrived next. “My classroom tables are suddenly all different heights. Is that a metaphor?”

“Probably,” I said, knowing the last time we’d walked into Bella's classroom, they were all equal in height.

Ardetia simply floated past us and said, “Chaos is the beginning of understanding.”

I turned to Keegan, who had appeared with a mug of coffee and no schedule at all.

“You’re just here to look good and nod wisely, right?” I teased.

“Obviously,” he said, deadpan.

Stella leaned on the other banister, cheeks pink with laughter. “This is going to be a wonderful disaster.”

“But, it’ll be our disaster.” I wiggled my brows, finally feeling the edge of uncertainty leave my bones.

They all chuckled.

And somewhere behind us, the halls of the Academy exhaled like it was laughing too.

I told myself I wouldn’t interfere. I was going to be dignified.

Headmistressly.

“Duty calls,” Keegan said, starting down one of the main corridors.

“Good luck,” I called after him as the others fell in step behind.

I wandered toward the kitchen, taking in the goodness of the morning and how smoothly it was going, when, not even five minutes into the first period of the day, I caught a whiff of something unusual.

All of that patting myself on the back went straight out the arched window.

Because the smell of burned lavender was drifting down the east hallway.

And nothing torched lavender unless, of course, something’s gone very, very wrong.

I made my way down the corridor toward the scent as the warm light filtered in through ivy-draped windows, giving the illusion of peace.

Emphasis on illusion .

Because from the moment I got within a few feet of Bella’s door, I heard it.

“Stop waving it! You’re fanning the flames!”

“I’m airing out the energy! ”

“You’re melting my eyebrows! ”

Bella’s voice, usually melodic and serene, now held the edge of someone trying very hard not to lose her entire magical composure.

I eased the door open just a crack.

Inside, chaos.

Gentle chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

One of the long wooden tables was smoldering faintly, surrounded by a group of midlife witches waving spellbooks like fans.

A small fire sprite hovered over the damage, looking far too smug for something the size of a teacup.

I hadn’t a clue that the Academy had its own fire department made of such dainty creatures.

Bella was trying to coax something into a sealed lantern while explaining, calmly but with tight teeth, that lighting the grounding herbs is a symbolic act, not a full combustion ritual.

Across the room, Opal, with wide eyes, sat cross-legged on a cushion as a potted lavender plant slowly rotated above her head. Every few seconds, the pot dipped toward her, like it wanted to boop her on the nose.

“Should it be doing that?” Opal asked the class.

“Not… really,” Bella said, still wrangling the sprite. “It’s reacting to your aura.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your aura is very... enthusiastic today.”

I tried to bite back a laugh and failed.

The door creaked as I stepped in.

Heads turned.

Bella gave me a look. Not panicked. Just resigned.

“Maeve,” she said. “How lovely of you to drop in. Everything’s under control.”

I looked at the charred edge of the table, then at the pouting fire sprite being lured into a mason jar with a sugar cube now that her work was over.

“Mmhmm. Very controlled.”

Bella finally managed to seal the sprite and placed the jar carefully in the corner, muttering a charm that sounded suspiciously like stay put or so help me.

Then Bella straightened, smoothed her apron, and turned to me.

“We’re working on wrangling mischievous herbs,” she said with forced cheer. “Identifying energetic resonance through scent and aura reading.”

I looked around.

One pot of basil was floating. Another had apparently developed the power of speech and kept repeating can’t catch me in a low monotone.

I smiled brightly. “Sounds like a success.”

Bella arched an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Only a little.”

A bell chimed faintly in the hallway, signaling the ten-minute mark until class is finished.

Bella clapped her hands. “All right, let’s ground our herbs. Everyone, find your breath, plant your feet, and imagine roots growing beneath you. We’re going to bring the energy down, not out.”

A collective shuffle and rustle as everyone adjusted, settled, and tried very hard not to giggle. A few snickers happened anyway.

I stayed near the door and watched the ladies truly enjoying themselves, but most of all, building a community.

Despite the singed edges, despite the talking basil and the mischievous sprite, the truth of it hit me.

They were learning.

Not just spells. But how to be here. How to hold space for their magic. How to be soft and serious and silly all at once.

And Bella, flustered, ash-dusted Bella, was doing exactly what she needed to do.

I caught her eye and gave her a little nod.

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed.

After a few more deep breaths, the class slowly returned to something like order. The floating plants lowered. The chatter calmed.

And I slipped out, closing the door behind me, loving that I was surrounded by magical women who weren’t afraid to try, fail, and laugh about it.

The Academy was alive.