Chapter 25
Brigid
The opulent fairy tale of last night is a distant dream. Hushed whispers and sidelong glances replace the lively chatter and music of the evening before.
I pause at the entrance, my fingers twisting the sleeve of my sweater. Every eye in the room turns to me, conversations stopping. The weight of their stares presses down on me like a physical force.
Not this bullshit again .
I force myself to move, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead as I make my way to where Rory and Tiernan are sitting. Their concerned expressions only amplify the knot in my stomach.
"Morning, love," Rory says as I slide into the seat beside him. "Sleep alright?"
I shrug, not trusting my voice. The smell of eggs and bacon on the plate in front of me is turning my stomach. Coffee is all I can handle right now and I take a sip of the steaming brew gratefully.
Tiernan leans in. "You know no one actually thinks you had anything to do with what happened, right?"
My laugh is sharp and bitter. "Right. Because I always get this kind of attention at breakfast."
Rory's warm hand covers mine. "Ah, feck 'em. They're just scared shitless and looking for someone to blame."
I pull my hand away, unable to deal with the comfort right now. "Where are Callen and Lochan?"
Tiernan and Rory exchange a look I can't quite decipher.
"Haven't seen 'em," Rory says after a beat.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the scrape of cutlery and muffled conversations around us. My skin crawls with the weight of unseen eyes.
I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over my cup. "I should go. I'll see you guys later."
"Brigid, wait—" Tiernan starts, but I'm already walking away, my steps quickening as I near the exit.
The cool air of the corridor is a blessed relief after the stifling atmosphere of the dining hall. I lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing.
What am I doing here?
I close my eyes, remembering the night Lochan and Callen showed up in my backwater town.
My fingers trace the rough stone of the wall as I walk, lost in thought. The Dean had found me so quickly after my magic awakened. Too quickly? I’d never questioned that. There are so many things I still don’t know.
Fuck it. I need answers.
My feet carry me towards Dean Charling's office before I can talk myself out of it. The last place I should be is anywhere near that office, considering what attacked him last night. But I know it wasn’t me.
I reach the door, my hand hovering over the handle.
Sweat beads on my upper lip as I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting have someone show up, pointing a finger at me. I briefly wonder if they have cops here, or if that’s a human world thing. But the corridor stretches empty behind me.
Shouldn’t there be more activity here?
The Dean was just murdered, I’d expect his office to be roped off with security tape or something, like on tv. But everyone is acting as if this is just a regular day, aside from staring at me like I’m a murderer, that is.
My fingers close around the cool metal. One more steadying breath, and I push the door open, slipping inside like a thief in the night.
The office is quiet, the air thick and heavy with unnatural stillness. My eyes dart around, taking in details that I missed when I was first in here. Bookshelves line the walls, a mix of modern paperbacks and leather-bound hardcovers. A massive mahogany desk dominates the center of the room, its surface cluttered with papers and strange looking trinkets and boxes.
I move towards it, my steps muffled by the plush rug underneath. My hands shake as I start rifling through the papers, searching for... I don't even know what.
There’s a filing cabinet. I open a drawer and comb through it, but nothing stands out. Until my fingers brush against a folder and I suck in a breath when I see it’s labeled with my name. I flip it open, scanning the contents.
There’s just one sheet of paper, neatly typed. The sheet has my name, my home address, the date I came to Grimstone Academy, and my date of birth. Under ‘Guardians’ it lists my Uncle and Aunt. Under ‘Parents’ it has the names of my adoptive parents. But then it has a hand-written note underneath:
see page 7. DC.
DC for Dean Charling obviously. But there’s no page 7. There’s no page two, three, four, five or six, either.
I’ve never known who my birth parents were. Could the Dean have known? Is that what the note was? And where are the missing pages?
I’m left with no answers and more questions, yet again.
I’m about to return the folder to the filing cabinet when I notice an imprint of writing at the bottom, like someone had written on a note on top of the paper and the pressure had left an indent on the sheet underneath.
Holding it up to the thin band of light coming through the gap in the curtains I squint my eyes to try and read it.
Potential vessel.
What. The. Actual…?
A sudden noise outside the door makes me freeze. Footsteps? My heart hammers in my chest as I strain to listen. They're getting closer.
Shit shit shit.
I shove the paper and the folder back in the cabinet and slide the drawer shut, wincing as it scrapes closed. I hold my breath, willing myself to please become invisible. No luck. The footsteps pause just outside the door. A voice, muffled but unmistakably male, speaks.
"...check again. There might be something we missed."
Panic rises in my throat. I glance around wildly, looking for a place to hide. Under the desk? Behind the curtains?
But the footsteps start to move away.
I let out a shaky breath, my legs nearly giving out beneath me.
That was too close.
With more urgency, I turn back to the desk. There has to be something here, some clue about what's really going on at Grimstone. About what I am.
My hands shake as I continue my search, knowing that each second I’m in here increases the chance of getting caught. But I can't leave yet. Not without answers. I'm in way over my head here, playing detective in a world I barely understand. But what choice do I have?
My fingers brush against something under the desk. Heart racing, I crouch down and stick my head under, running my hand along the underside until I feel it again. A small, hidden latch.
Forcing my fingers to steady, I press the latch. A soft click echoes in the silent room, and a small compartment springs open.
Inside lies a scroll, its edges frayed and yellowed with age. I gingerly lift it out, hoping it doesn’t crumble to dust in my hands.
I carefully unroll the delicate parchment and time stops as I notice the symbols and inked words covering the scroll. At the center, a familiar one blazes out at me—the same one in my art, the one etched on that book in the restricted section.
My eyes dart over the text, picking out fragments I can understand.
Morrigan
vessel
prophecy
My mind is reeling.
It can't be about me. I'm nobody—just a weird orphan girl who sees things she shouldn't.
But as I stare at the scroll, deep down, I know it has to be.
I gently place the scroll in my bag, praying it doesn’t fall apart before I can get back to my room. Gotta get out of here. Now.
I creep to the door, ears straining for any sound but it’s silent. I slowly turn the handle and ease the door open, peering into the hallway.
Empty. I exhale the breath I’d been holding and say a wordless thank you in my head.
I slip out, keeping my steps light as I hurry towards my room. Every noise makes me flinch, expecting to be stopped at any moment, but I make it back without running into anyone.
I slam the door to my room, relieved to be safe in my room.
All I can think of is the scroll in my bag. I want to look at it, to unravel its secrets, but my hands are shaking too much.
Too late, I realize I’m not alone in the room.
Lochan .