Chapter 8
Brigid
I appear in a flash of blinding light, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
As the light fades, I am met with the sight of an enormous, grand castle, looming over us in all its gothic splendor. The imposing structure is surrounded by a dense forest, the trees reaching towards the sky and shrouding the grounds in an unnatural darkness. The thick fog that engulfs the lanterns lining the drive adds to the surreal atmosphere.
Lochan and Callen stand beside me, their expressions unreadable. My mouth is dry, and my tongue feels heavy as I try to calm my racing heart.
The air is cool, like it was back home, so I figure I’m at least still in the same hemisphere. Maybe. Probably. An aroma of burning candles mingles with something sweet and floral, as if the forest is hiding a secret garden within it.
The faintest hint of something metallic lingers. I forget to breathe as I take in the magnitude of it all. This place is surreal, like something out of a fairy tale.
And my feet feel like they’re encased in concrete. I try to take a step forward, but nothing happens. I look down and see my knees shaking.
Callen's hand finds mine, and his light touch sends a bolt of sensation through me. He pulls me up the cobblestone path towards the main steps. Lochan follows behind, his presence a heavy weight at my back. I want to turn around and run, to escape this strange and intimidating place, but Callen's grip on my hand is firm and unyielding.
As we approach the imposing steps, a figure emerges from the shadows. I take in the man descending towards us and. His presence is commanding, intimidating. I find myself involuntarily shrinking back.
"Dean Charling," Callen advises me with a whisper.
The Dean's eyes lock onto mine. I fight the urge to look away, forcing myself to meet his gaze. His lips are set in a thin line, his expression stern and unyielding. He's dressed impeccably in old-fashioned clothing, a handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. His shock of white hair matches his deathly pale skin.
"Lochan, Callen," he nods curtly. "I see you've succeeded in your task. Prompt and reliable, as always."
I swallow hard, my throat dry. There's something about Dean Charling that sets my nerves on edge, a barely concealed danger lurking beneath his polished exterior.
"Miss Ryan," he addresses me directly, his voice clipped and formal. "Welcome to Grimstone Academy. I trust your journey was... uneventful?"
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How do I even begin to describe the bizarre events that led me here?
"I..." I start, then clear my throat. "It was... interesting."
"Indeed. We'll speak more tomorrow morning. For now, someone will show you to your living quarters.”
My mind races. Living quarters? How long am I expected to stay here? And what about…
"Fiona," I blurt out. "My friend. She'll notice I'm gone. I need to contact her, let her know I'm okay."
Dean Charling's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "There's no need to concern yourself with your friends or family."
The word 'family' coils around his tongue like a serpent, and I suddenly feel cold all over.
“But—" I start to protest.
"All will be explained in due time," he cuts me off. "For now, rest. Acclimate yourself to your new surroundings."
I can't shake the feeling that Dean Charling knows far more about me than he's letting on. And that thought terrifies me more than anything else I've encountered tonight.
I watch as a shaggy blonde guy lopes up the steps, his confident movements making him seem almost larger than life. As he gets closer, I can see that he's another impossibly beautiful man, with chiseled, rugged features and blond hair that shines like gold in the light from the lanterns. He's tall, muscular, with deep brown eyes that crinkle as he grins.
"Lochan! Is that a smile I see?" He elbows the scowling man in the ribs.
Lochan's glower deepens. "Shut it, Rory."
Rory and Callen exchange a look. I shift uncomfortably, acutely aware of how absurd it is that I’m standing here, next to these otherworldly men.
"Brigid, you're in good hands with Rory." Callen winks, and heat floods my cheeks.
Dean Charling clears his throat. "Rory, please show Miss Ryan to her quarters. Lochan, with me."
Lochan follows the Dean without a word or a glance toward me, like I don’t exist to him. My stomach twists with an odd mix of disappointment and annoyance.
Callen's fingers brush my arm as he passes me. "I'll see you soon, beautiful," he says, his words dripping with promise.
I swallow hard, pulse quickening. What have I gotten myself into? I watch Callen go back down the steps and disappear into a hedge maze to the right of the drive.
Rory's warm smile breaks through my thoughts. "Ready for the grand tour?"
I nod, grateful for how relaxed and open he is. Rory is a welcome relief after Lochan’s rude hostility, and his presence eases the anxiety knotted in my stomach.
Rory leads me through massive doors into the main hall. Again, I realize I’m holding my breath. I’m gonna need an oxygen mask if this keeps up . The cavernous space is lit by flickering candles, their flames casting uncanny shadows across stone walls that are adorned with large painted portraits in gold frames.
"Impressive, right?" Rory's voice echoes. He gestures to a row of stern-faced men and women. "Our illustrious headmasters. Cheery bunch."
I snort, surprised by his casual irreverence. "They look... intense."
"Oh, they were. Still are—if you believe the rumors."
I study the portraits, half-expecting one to turn his head.
As we walk, the candlelight seems to follow us, illuminating our path while plunging the areas behind into darkness. The shadows feel alive, watching, reaching. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder.
"You okay?" Rory asks, walking backwards to face me.
I force a smile. "Fine. Just... taking it all in."
We approach a grand staircase, its steps seeming to wave like water. I blink hard, certain I'm imagining things.
Rory grins. "Grimstone's got a mind of its own. Wait until you see the rooms that appear and disappear at will."
I stumble, caught off guard by something shifting beneath my feet. Rory's hand steadies me, solid and very warm.
"Thanks," I mumble, embarrassed. "So, um, people don't get lost?"
He laughs. "Oh, they do. All the time. You've got to know where you're going, or you might never find your way out."
My eyes widen. "You're joking."
"Maybe. Maybe not." He drops my hand, and for a minute I’m disappointed, but then he places it on my back, guiding me forward.
As we ascend, I feel like the building itself is alive, watching, evaluating. I try to focus on Rory's animated chatter. He talks to me like we’re old friends, even though we’ve just met. I think Fiona would like him. No, actually Fiona would like him a little too much. Rory, Callen, and Lochan all look like book boyfriends come true.
As we reach the top of the stairs, I pause.
"You alright there, Brigid?" Rory asks, concern etching his features, "It's a lot to take in, isn't it? I remember my first day here."
I manage a weak smile. "How did you cope?"
He shrugs, his muscular frame moving beneath his shirt. "Found my people. Made it feel like home."
“Callen?” I ask.
He nods. “Lochan, too, and Tiernan. You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s out there somewhere communing with the garden spirits or whatever it is he does.” Rory laughs.
As we walk, I notice odd carvings on the walls. Creatures I've never seen before, twisting and writhing in frozen agony or ecstasy—I can't quite tell which.
"What are these?" I ask, reaching out to touch one.
Rory's hand seizes mine, his grip firm. "Wouldn't do that if I were you. Some of them bite."
I snatch my hand back, eyes wide. "You're kidding."
"Grimstone's full of surprises, Brigid. Best to keep your wits about you."
As we continue down the corridor, the shadows seem to move of their own accord, and I swear I hear whispers just beyond the edge of hearing.
"Why do I get the feeling that this place is alive or something?"
He turns to me. "Now that's the real question, isn't it?” And I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
We reach a grand staircase, its steps worn smooth by centuries of feet. As I place my foot on the first step, I feel a subtle shift beneath me. My heart leaps into my throat. I take another step, and this time the stair definitely moves, like it’s a pendulum. "Is this safe?"
"Mostly," Rory says, chuckling at my wide-eyed expression. "Just don't think about falling."
Of course, now that's all I can think about. My knuckles turn white on the railing.
"So, the building itself is magical, too?" I ask, trying to distract myself as we ascend.
Rory nods, his shaggy blond hair bouncing. "It's alive in its own way. Grimstone is kind of like a space between the ordinary world and the supernatural world. It’s a little bit of both.
I stumble slightly, catching myself on the railing. “Supernatural—like ghosts and stuff?"
Rory's laugh echoes through the stairwell. "Oh, much more than that. Take me, for example. I'm an Irish werewolf."
I blink, sure I've misheard. "You're a... what?"
"Werewolf," he repeats, grinning to reveal teeth that suddenly look a bit sharper. "Irish variety. We're a bit different from your standard Hollywood werewolves."
Um…werewolves are real? And there are different types? I open my mouth, but no words come out.
"What about Lochan and Callen?" I ask, finding my voice at last. "Are they...werewolves too?" It’s like my brain can’t believe is actually coming out of my mouth.
Rory shakes his head. "Nah, they're plain old fae. Well, Lochan is. His family are fae warriors. Callen, or his royal highness, is a prince of the high fae, actually. They grew up together."
My head spins. Fae? Like fairies? But Lochan and Callen are so...uh, alpha male. Nothing like the Tinkerbell-esque things you picture when you hear the word fairy.
“Oh and don’t call them fairies. That’s a big thing for them.” I want to ask why, but Rory keeps moving. "This way," Rory says, guiding me down another corridor. "I want to show you the library."
We step through big oak doors, and I gasp. The library is enormous, its ceiling stretching impossibly high, bookshelves reaching up into shadowy heights. The scent of old paper and leather fills my nose. Oh my god, Fiona just would die .
"Do you like to read?" Rory asks, watching me drink in the sight.
I nod, then hesitate. "Yeah, but...maybe not the kind of books you have here."
"Oh?" Rory raises an eyebrow. "What kind do you like? We have just about everything here."
Heat rises to my cheeks as I think of the gargoyle smut I just finished the other day. "Um...just... regular stuff."
Rory's grin widens, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Ah, I see."
I want to disappear into the floor. How did he know? Can werewolves read minds?
"Don't worry," Rory says, still grinning. "Your secret's safe with me. Though I’m sure we can find something to make those pretty cheeks turn red."
I dare a glance up at him and he doesn’t look like he’s joking.
Rory leads me out of the library and down another winding corridor. My head's spinning, trying to keep track of all the twists and turns. We emerge into the night, and I blink, momentarily confused by the bright light.
"Welcome to the training grounds," Rory announces with a sweeping gesture.
My jaw drops. The space before us is massive, easily the size of several football fields. Students are scattered across it, engaged in... magic? The grounds are lit up by an enormous glowing orb high above, like a mini version of the sun.
A girl nearby levitates a boulder twice her size. To our left, two guys duel with fireballs. And in the distance—
"Is that Callen?" I ask, squinting at a familiar figure.
Rory nods, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Yep, that's our resident prince. Probably practicing some fancy fae tricks."
As if on cue, Callen vanishes in a shimmer of light, reappearing seconds later.
I'm mesmerized. "This is... incredible. Are they all fae?"
Rory chuckles. "Nah, we've got all sorts here. Vampires, witches, shapeshifters... you name it, Grimstone's probably got it."
My mind reels. "And they're all...real? This isn't some elaborate joke?"
"As real as you and me," Rory says. "I know it's a lot to take in."
I nod mutely, watching a group of students transform into various animals. A question nags at me, one I'm almost afraid to voice.
"How do I—I mean, what am I doing here? I'm just normal."
Rory's eyebrows shoot up. "Normal? Brigid, I don't think—"
A thunderous explosion cuts him off. We whirl to see a plume of smoke rising from the far end of the grounds.
"Bloody hell," Rory mutters. "That'll be the elementals again.
I gulp, willing my heart rate to return to normal. "Is that common?"
Rory shrugs, his easy smile returning. "More than you'd think. C'mon, let's get you settled in."
We leave the chaotic training grounds behind, winding through stone corridors.
”Welcome to your new digs," he announces as he pushes open a door.
I step into the room, and I’m overwhelmed. Luxurious doesn't even begin to describe it.
The room is huge, easily three times the size of my cramped little cottage.My jaw drops at the opulence that surrounds me, from the velvet drapes that pool elegantly on the floor to the golden chandelier casting a warm, inviting glow.
A fire flickers in the fireplace, its warmth spreading throughout the room. The flames crackle and hiss, and the light from it makes the polished wood furniture glow. In a corner, I see a sumptuous sitting area, with two plush armchairs and a table adorned with fresh fruits and fragrant flowers. A massive four-poster bed commands the space, draped in heavy burgundy curtains and the bedding looks as soft as a cloud, tempting me to sink into its comfort.
The events of the evening— has it really only been that long?— catch up with me and I am more than tired, I am existentially exhausted.
The emotional rollercoaster of betrayal, confusion, and hope has drained me completely, leaving my mind numb and my body aching for rest.
"It's beautiful.” I turn back to Rory who is waiting in the doorway.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, one arm over his head, making his shirt ride up and revealing a fair-sized slice of toned abs. I catch myself staring and quickly look away, heat rising to my cheeks again.
Rory's grin widens. "I'll let you get settled. Be back in a bit to escort you to dinner, alright?"
“Dinner this late?”
“It’s barely midnight, love. The night’s just getting started.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. As soon as he's gone, I collapse onto the bed, my mind spinning.
What am I doing here? How can any of this be real?
I force myself up, drawn to the windows. I must be on the other side of the grounds. The forest is bathed in moonlight, casting long shadows across the green. A lone figure is out there—Lochan, striding purposefully across the lawn. He glances up, our eyes meeting for a brief, electric moment before he quickly looks away.
I jerk the curtains closed, my pulse pounding, head spinning. Turning, I get a glimpse of myself in the large standing mirror, and I groan.
I completely forgot I was still wearing my hardware store uniform.