Chapter 10
Brigid
My eyes snap open, heart thundering against my ribs.
Shadows climb the unfamiliar walls of my new room, like living smoke. They respond to the frantic beat of my pulse, to the fear clawing up my throat. They take the shape of ravens, their beating wings creating swirling gust of wind inside the room.
I force air into my lungs, willing my breathing to slow. "It's just a dream," I whisper, but the words ring hollow.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I plant my feet on the icy floor. The chill shoots up through my bones, grounding me in the present moment. I curl my toes against the stone, focusing on the sensation as I survey the restless shadows.
Tendrils of darkness reach for me, only to shy away at the last second. It's as if they can sense my turmoil, my inner chaos made manifest.
Is this me?
I rake a hand through my tangled hair, grimacing at the feel of cold sweat on my scalp. My oversized t-shirt clings to my skin, damp and uncomfortable. I push myself to stand. The room sways for a moment, and I brace a hand against the wall to steady myself.
The shadows retreat at my touch, sliding and swirling around my wrists and up my arms. It’s like they’re leaving, going home. This... this is new.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very small and very alone in this strange place.
I take a shaky step towards the window, needing to see something beyond these suffocating stone walls. The forest stretches out before me, a sea of darkness under the fading stars. It's beautiful, in a haunting sort of way.
A raven's cry pierces the pre-dawn silence, making me flinch. I scan the treeline, searching for the source, but see nothing. Just shadows and more shadows.
My hands tremble as I grab my sketchbook, the familiar weight grounding me. I sink to the floor, back against the wall, and flip to a blank page.
"Just get it out," I mutter.
The first stroke is hesitant, but then it's like a dam breaks. My hand moves with frenzied urgency, each line a desperate attempt to capture the haunting vision before it fades. Ravens take shape on the page – dozens of them.
I lose myself in the drawing, barely aware of my surroundings. Time passes in a blur. I’m so tired, but my mind won't quiet. The absence of my usual post-vision headache is a small mercy, but it's also... strange.
I furrow my brow, finally setting down the pencil. "Why is it different here?"
The question hangs in the air, unanswered. I stare at the finished page, a rambling dump of feathers and darkness. It's strangely beautiful, and creepy, just like everything in this place.
"What the hell am I doing here?" I whisper, exhaustion finally catching up to me. I put down my sketchbook and crawl back to bed, slipping under the heavy down-filled comforter, my eyes finally closing.
I sleep until sunlight streams through the window, casting long shadows across the room. Pushing back the blankets I stand, stretching my stiff limbs. I look in the mirror. Dark circles rim my eyes, starker than ever against my pale skin.
"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I look like death warmed over." I get dressed quickly, knowing that today is the day I get some answers from Dean Charling. I pull my clothes on as fast as I can, aware that it’s later than I thought.
There’s a sharp tap on the door and I open it to find Callen standing there casually, a lazy smile on his lips. His eyes sweep over me.
"Good morning, beautiful," he drawls. He eyes the clothes I’m wearing, the same jeans and shirt I wore yesterday evening, with my yellow cardigan. "We can do better than that," he mutters.
Gee, thanks. “Why are you here?” I’m too tired to be polite.
He chuckles, pushing past me into the room. "Now, now. Is that any way to greet your personal escort?"
"I didn't ask for an escort, Callen," I snap, but I’m not at all certain that I could find Dean Charling’s office on my own.
Callen's gaze lands on my open sketchbook, his eyebrows rising. "Interesting," he murmurs.
I move to stand in front of it, blocking his view. "It's nothing."
"Oh, I doubt that."
Before I can change my mind, he's ushering me out into the hallway. The stone corridors of Grimstone loom around us, shadows dancing in the corners despite it being daytime. As we walk and pass other students, whispers follow like a hissing tide.
My jaw clenches. It's all too familiar, the burning stares and hushed conversations. I keep my eyes forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
Callen, however, has no such reservations. His gaze sweeps the hallway, meeting each set of curious eyes with a look that could freeze blood. One by one, the whispers die.
"Impressive," I mutter.
He winks. "One of my many talents. There are a few perks to being a prince."
Riiight . I’d actually forgotten he was supposed to be royalty.
We round a corner, and I spot a familiar face. Laria, the blonde from the dining hall, leans against a doorway. Her pale eyes narrow as we approach, lips curling into a sneer.
"Slumming it today, Callen?" She calls out in a voice dripping with venom.
I tense, waiting for the barb to sink in. But Callen merely laughs, the sound rich and warm.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Laria dear," he says smoothly. "Though I suppose you can't help it when you look at Brigid."
Laria's face contorts, but Callen's already steering me past her. I can feel her glare boring into my back.
"Friend of yours?" I ask dryly.
Callen's smile is razor-sharp. "Oh, Laria's bark is worse than her bite. Usually."
We stop in front of an imposing oak door. A brass plaque reads "Dean Charling."
My stomach twists.
Callen's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Best not to keep him waiting," he murmurs.
The door swings open, revealing an office that looks like it was plucked from another century. Dark wood paneling, leather-bound books, and the faint scent of pipe tobacco. Behind an enormous desk sits Dean Charling, his probing gaze fixed on me.
"Miss Ryan," he intones, voice clipped. "Do come in."
I step inside, my feet sinking into a plush oriental rug. The door clicks shut behind me, and I'm alone with the Dean. His gaze feels like a physical weight.
"Please, sit," he says, gesturing to a high-backed chair.
I perch on the edge, hands clasped tightly in my lap. The silence stretches, thick and oppressive.
"Grimstone Academy," Dean Charling begins abruptly, "is not a typical school, Miss Ryan. We exist to nurture and control extraordinary abilities."
My heart races. I force my face to remain neutral. "What kind of abilities?"
His lips curl into something that might be a smile. "Magic, Miss Ryan. The kind that shapes reality itself."
I want to laugh, to call him crazy. But the shadows in the room seem to dance at his words, and I remember the swirling darkness in my own bedroom.
"And you think I have... magic?" The words taste strange on my tongue.
"We know you do," he says, leaning forward. "Shadow magic, to be precise. Rare and potentially quite dangerous."
My mind reels. I’m just a girl who works at a shop all day and heats up lasagna for dinner which I eat while watching Netflix. How can I be that , and also what Dean Charling is saying?
The Dean's eyes narrow. "Miss Ryan, you're quite unique. We haven’t come across anyone with your particular…talents for a very long time."
"How did you find me?" I ask, curiosity warring with misgiving.
“We've woven protective wards and have an early detection system that alerts us any time unsanctioned supernatural activity flares in the world. Much like a stone thrown in water creates ripples, your powers awakening sent a surge of magic we couldn't ignore. It resonated with the warning wards specifically attuned to shadow magic, a rare and volatile force. Simply put, Miss Ryan, you lit up our radar like a beacon in the dark."
"Why bring me here?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dean Charling's expression grows grave. "Shadow magic was thought to be gone from our world. It’s not something to trifle with, and you are here as much for your own protection as for others."
I feel a chill. What exactly does he think I'm capable of?
The Dean's words hang in the air, heavy with implication. My throat tightens as I think of the shadows and the ravens last night. Should I tell him? The urge to confess burns in my chest, but something holds me back. A quiet voice whispers caution.
"Is there... anything else I should know?" Dean Charling asks, his gaze sharp behind those spectacles.
I swallow hard, forcing my face to remain neutral. I don’t know what the Dean is, and the thought occurs to me that he could be a mind reader like Tiernan. Still, I don’t want to tell him. "No, sir. It's just... a lot to take in."
I can't shake the feeling that revealing everything would be a mistake. Not yet. Not until I understand more.
Dean Charling leans back, steepling his fingers. "Rest assured, Miss Ryan, you are safe here at Grimstone. We have measures in place to contain and nurture talents such as yours."
"Contain?" I echo, unease prickling along my skin.
"A mere precaution," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "Your safety, and that of your fellow students, is our utmost priority."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. His words are meant to comfort, but they leave me cold. What aren't they telling me?
"Do you have any other questions?" he asks, his tone suggesting our meeting is drawing to a close.
"No, thank you," I manage, rising from my chair. My legs feel unsteady, my mind reeling. I stop. “Actually, I have one question.”
The Dean waits, his fingers steepled and his gaze attentive.
“What am I?” My voice is shakier than I’d like it to be.
“That, Ms. Ryan, remains to be seen.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
As I turn to leave, Dean Charling's voice stops me. "Remember, Miss Ryan. Grimstone is your home now. Your... sanctuary."
I force a polite smile, even as doubt churns within me.
The heavy door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, my heart pounding. What have I gotten myself into?