Chapter 13
Brigid
I stumble into my room and shut the door.
My back presses against the cool wood, anchoring me to the here and now, even though I can still feel Callen ’ s touch, his thoughts. My breath comes in ragged gusts as if I've been running for miles.
I ’ d escaped him as soon as we got to my hallway, bolting like I was training for the Olympics. I didn ’ t look back to see if he was laughing. I knew he was.
I ’ m on edge in more ways than one. My body is crying out for the release it was denied, and at the same time I ’ m so fucking angry at Callen ’ s intrusion into my thoughts. I don ’ t know how he did it, or even what exactly he did, but from now on I ’ ll have to be more on guard with him.
I fell into the trap of trusting a moment of kindness and an easy smile. So fucking stupid. I really should know better.
With leaden limbs, I trudge across the floor, each step a battle against the false memories of him—so close, so unnervingly intimate.
I ’ d actually felt his warm breath between my legs, his tongue circling my clit, his strong fingers inside me.
All of it just a fucked-up mirage .
I still feel slightly disoriented and the edge of the bed catches me as I fall more than sit.
In this place, my phone becomes an anomaly on the nightstand, a slice of my old life glaringly out of place in this strange new world. It's almost jarring how ordinary and familiar it looks here. I snatch it up, and my fingers are trembling as they swipe across the screen.
Fiona's name sits there, a lifeline of normalcy in a sea of madness.
I imagine her voice, her jokes, and her laugh. I hesitate, my thumb hovering with indecision—the urge to confide in her wrestling with the knowledge that words could never bridge the gap between our worlds now.
"Fuck it," I murmur to myself, pressing the call button hard enough to hurt.
The dial tone buzzes in my ear, and I ’ m surprised that it even works. What would I even say? Hey, Fi, just enrolled in Warlock U, oh and by the way, I have superpowers?
But I don ’ t get the chance. Fiona ’ s voicemail greeting plays. A part of me is relieved, grateful for the reprieve from explanations that would sound like insanity even to my own ears. I drop my phone onto the bed.
Callen ’ s scent lingers, crisp and heavenly. His presence, though absent, is invasive. There's no escaping the truth. This isn't just a school; it ’ s a battlefield, and I am woefully unprepared.
A rustle at the door scratches through the silence.
I approach, slow and deliberate, my breath caught between caution and curiosity, and I notice a paper lying innocently on the floor.
Picking it up, my fingers brush the rough texture and I unfold it.
The script is hand-written—curved, elegant letters spelling out courses that sound like spells themselves.
"Elemental Conjuring... Glyph Weaving..." I read aloud. My world thus far has been practicality and survival.
This?
This is beyond my wildest dreams, a glaring reminder that I am out of my depth .
"Advanced Illusionary Tactics"
"Druidic Lore"
"Temporal Distortions"
I drop the schedule onto the bed, feeling the like crawling under the covers and never coming back out.
My eyes dart over the unfamiliar words again, each one a reminder of how utterly out of place I am.
The memory of seeing the magic being practiced on the training grounds last night floods my mind. Their effortless grace, the casual way they wielded power. I close my eyes.
They belong here. And I'm just... what?
My chest tightens, a familiar ache of not fitting in. I've always been the outsider, but this?
This is a whole new level of not belonging.
What if I can't control whatever it is inside me?
I glance at my hands, remembering the darkness that had emerged earlier.
"Brigid Ryan, shadow witch?" I say with a humorless laugh. "Or Brigid Ryan, complete fraud."
But even as the doubt gnaws at me, something else stirs.
I look at the schedule again. Something called The Harrowing training is listed for this afternoon. My first class. Despite everything, a tiny flame of excitement lights up inside me. I'm petrified, yes, but also curious. Eager, even.
"Well," I say to the empty room, "I guess it's time to see if I can fake it till I make it."