Page 3 of Spellcaster (Weatherstone College #1)

Forcing myself not to fidget with my long hair again, because messing with the golden-brown strands five times was officially

four too many, I stood beside Dad, staring at the imposing Weatherstone gates. Seconds ago we’d been at home, hugging Mom

goodbye, and then Dad had called for the transport. The magical ring of energy we’d stepped through had deposited us in a

hut to the right of the campus gates. Right was for incoming traffic, left for outgoing.

No one could transport straight into Weatherstone, except maybe the headmaster. I’d heard rumors he had his own personal portal

inside his office.

“Impressive, isn’t it, Little Gem?”

“Uh, yeah...” A picture of the gates had been in the brochure, but it did not do them justice. It was more than their sheer

size, standing twenty feet high and at least that wide, constructed from iron, curving and twisting in intricate patterns

to reach an arched top. It was the energy emanating from every facet, including the glowing golden script in the center that

read Weatherstone College . Below, in a slightly duller gold, was the school’s motto: Conquester livara incidium morando.

The ancient language of magic users was no longer part of our day-to-day speech, but we still used it in spells. Everyone

knew the rough translation of the motto: “To conquer life you must first accept death.”

It made sense with the knowledge that the two witches who created Weatherstone College, all the way back in the eighteenth century, were both necromancers.

Hence the reason a necro always sat as headmaster.

Rumors about the pair still swirled to this day, but it was widely accepted that in the end their obsession with death and Weatherstone had gotten them killed.

It was believed that their souls remained on this plot of land, trapped, unable to move on to the next plane of existence.

Considering its history, the fact that this was the most prestigious magical college in the country was odd, and yet, not at the same time. The afterlife was shrouded in mystery and untapped power, and those of us with magical abilities were always

blurring the line between the energy of the living and the dead.

“Ready to start the next chapter of your life?” Dad asked as he picked up my duffel bag, leaving me to pull my suitcase along.

The school provided uniforms and all our needs for classes, so I only had to bring some casual clothes and any personal effects

I couldn’t live without for the next ten months. The hardest part for me was choosing between my favorite crystals, but I’d

narrowed it down to ten.

“Yes,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

As Dad approached the gates, the shimmery blue field indicating the defensive perimeter grew visible. My siblings told me

it ran the entire boundary and was crafted to permit only professors and students.

As this was my first time at the school, I held my breath, wondering if I was about to trigger an alarm.

Dad pressed his hand against the center of the iron paneling, right below the glowing motto, and both gates swung open silently, like they were well-oiled.

Expanding out from the gates were chalky stone walls standing as high as the gates and much thicker.

At one point they’d clearly been white, but now all I could see through the mass of vines that had been cultivated across them was the patina of cracked and aged paint.

If these walls could talk, the history here would no doubt blow my mind.

A fissure of energy caressed my body as we crossed the threshold, but there was no alarm, and we soon made it along the cobbled

path that led to the front of the impressive stone and smoky-gray brick entrance. The design of the school was Victorian slash

Gothic Revival, and despite many of the wings having been rebuilt over two centuries, the overall facade remained the same.

Dark brick with brown stone, turrets, and arches, peaked roofs and columns, dotted across the entire campus.

“Jensen said there’s a huge lake at the rear of the college where the water elementals train.” I struck up a conversation

in the hope of easing my nerves. It was overwhelming to finally be here, feeling a slight sense of unease and excitement as

my magic mixed with the unearthly energy of Weatherstone.

“It’s beautiful,” Dad said with enthusiasm, “and there are forests surrounding the lake on three sides. The familiars are

housed in the barracks to the right of the lake, but otherwise it’s very natural.”

“I’ll have to get down there and meet the twins’ familiars. I feel like I already know them.”

I’d heard so much about this college, of course.

Every member of my family had lived here at one point or another, and I was the last to climb the ancient stone steps.

History said that the materials used to craft the entrance to the college were imported from the Battle of the Hedons in Germany in 1835.

The necromancers wanted to capture the energy of those who died in that battle.

There had been many magical wars over the years, some involving humans, and others just between the covens, but the Battle of the Hedons was rumored to have been the most bloodthirsty.

Who knew, maybe these steps were the reason that Weatherstone graduates went on to the strongest of covens, and all but ruled

the magical world. Any respect I planned on displaying them though was diminished as my suitcase clunked up each of the treads,

and I was struck once more by the thought that I wasn’t going to fit in here. Even so, I’d still take the best training in

the world, graduate Weatherstone, and find a decent coven.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

Your coven decided your job and financial situation, so the more prestigious your coven was, the better you’d do in the long

run. All I had to do was survive my four years here and make it through graduation.

Easy as that.

At the top of the stairs we passed through open metal doors, darker than the brick surrounding them. Dad, who walked these

halls five days a week as a professor, entered the building like he owned the place. In truth, with his impressive height

and stern features, he always looked like he owned every room he walked into. Tom Hallistar was an imposing warlock, and he

never hid his power.

Still, his softer side emerged for those he loved, and while I had no classes with him this year—he taught senior elementals—I

had no doubt he’d be around checking up on me.

Inside it was warm, a blazing fireplace in the entrance hall casting dry heat over us. Unwrapping my damp scarf, I examined

the room, which was wide with stone floors and walls, covered in thick, rich tapestries. It looked as if it had been modernized

a few decades ago, and from then maintained to keep everything pristine.

Dad headed right to the door with Office printed across the front panel. He gestured for me to step through first, my suitcase dragging along, and he followed. The

office was well lit and clean, dominated by a long desk. Behind it, two witches sorted through paperwork, laughing as they

gossiped. Powerful magic usually caused glitches in computers and phones, so for the most part the colleges had minimal technology.

There were landline phones for us to call home, but otherwise we would spend our time here talking to each other for entertainment.

“Professor Hallistar,” one of the witches cooed, looking up from her papers. “What brings you in here this fine morning?”

She looked to be in her midthirties, with a Southern drawl, overly curled blond hair that was piled on her head, and huge

brown eyes behind thick black glasses. She wore a lot of makeup and was shooting Dad flirty looks that annoyed me on Mom’s

behalf.

Dad was gruff as he returned none of her energy. “Ms. White, I’m here to pick up my youngest daughter’s welcome pack. It should

be under ‘Paisley Hallistar.’ She needs her dorm assignment and class schedule.”

Ms. White eyed me curiously, and I followed Dad’s example and kept my face passive and hard to read. “You have the prettiest

children, Tom,” she said, her smile widening. “Look at those baby blues. I hope you’ve warned all the boys at the school.”

Compared to my siblings, I was no more attractive than the average witch, and I let her words roll off me without settling.

This wasn’t even about me; she was trying to get a rise out of Dad, and he was stubbornly refusing to give her the reaction

she wanted.

“The pack,” he repeated patiently, my duffel seemingly forgotten as it draped at his side.

Ms. White’s smile eased as she turned to rifle through one of a series of filing cabinets lining the back wall behind the desk.

She took a few minutes before we heard, “Aha! I found it.” Returning to the desk, she held out the thick cream envelope.

“Here you go, dear. Enjoy your first year at Weatherstone College.”

“Thank you.” My words were polite; hopefully my face followed suit; it didn’t always do what it was told.

With a nod and smile, she picked up her paperwork once more and resumed conversing with the other witch as if we’d never entered

the room. Dad led me out of the office at the same time as four new students were about to enter. I held the door open for

them as they made their way inside. None of them had parents, of course, since they wouldn’t be permitted on the grounds,

and I thanked Selene that I didn’t have to make this journey alone.

When the last of the students, a small redheaded witch, was inside, I went to release the door when Ms. White called out suddenly,

“Oh, and, Professor Hallistar.” Dad edged back into the doorway to face her. “Headmaster Gregor asked me to pass on a message.

I forgot until just now what with all the new students.” She laughed in a delicate, fluttering way, but Dad’s expression remained

neutral.

“The message, Ms. White,” he said shortly.

Her full lips puckered. “Alright, no need to get snappy. He wanted me to tell you that Rafael Kingston’s son is transferring

in from Italy this year. He’ll be in his third year, but will be teaching a few classes on spellcasting, since he’s the strongest

of that affinity we’ve had in a long time. I’m not sure of the significance, but apparently you needed to be updated.”

She shrugged, message delivered, and returned her focus to the students waiting for their packs. The small redheaded witch eyed me curiously, and I shot her a weak smile. The aim was to make friends, and since none from my high school were in this grade with me, I really should practice.

I gasped as Dad’s hand closed around my wrist, and with urgency he jerked me from the room, the office door slamming behind

us. “Dad?” I asked, confusedly blinking at the frantic look on his face. “Are you okay?”

His breaths came out fast and hard. “This changes everything, Paisley.” His tone was almost unrecognizable. “You’re refusing

your acceptance to Weatherstone. We’re going home.”

With that, he yanked up my suitcase as well as the duffel bag, and marched out the front doors.