Chapter 2 #2
A three-story Victorian house stands above us, painted a deep dusky blue that seems to change with the light as the clouds pass by.
White shutters frame each of the tall, arched windows like delicate lace.
Every corner of the white trim is carved with swirls and stars and other arcane sigils I can’t place but feel like I’m meant to know.
The house itself leans slightly forward, like a forgotten storybook wedged between spreadsheets. Ivy curls up the wrought-iron railings of a wraparound porch, and ceramic pots filled with porcelain-blue dahlias bask in the afternoon sun.
“Used to be the headmistress’s house back in the 1800s,” Magnus informs us.
We are ushered inside, away from the chill, into a grand entranceway. Arched doorways open into a parlor and study. Twin staircases curve up in an elegant scroll to a wide landing. The balustrades are made of wood carved into twisted vines.
“Boys’ dorms to the left, second floor, girls’ on the right. Your room numbers are on your orientation letters.”
The scent of rain-damp wood, threaded with lavender, drifts out to greet me as I begin the climb—cool, calming, and alive. Rozsen, Elliot, and a quiet girl named Amelia follow behind me as we head to our shared room.
The door opens into an airy living space painted a soft, stormy gray-blue.
A deep comfy-looking sofa faces a white stone hearth where a cozy fire is ready to welcome us.
Pale wood cabinets and white marble countertops make up a small kitchen tucked behind a half-wall.
The aesthetic is plain but elegant, and looks perfect for late-night studying or long, whispered conversations.
At the far end of the living room, hung with translucent white curtains, stands a large bay window that overlooks a huge glittering lake.
Lake Caldrith.
Known for bone-chilling water, silver catfish, and a mythical monster that’s been said to haunt the lake floor and pull in unsuspecting students who don’t follow orders. At least that’s what Magnus told us, the last part jokingly when we walked by it earlier.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass, dark strands of hair falling around my face from the hasty ponytail I tied it up in earlier, the gray-and-black uniform a stark contrast to the soft creams and blues of the room.
“I think Rozsen should bunk with you, Farris, and I’ll take Amelia,” says Elliot, clearly making herself the leader of this decision.
She winks at me and says, “Better this way. I’ve known Rozsen since we were six and I’m more likely to kill her if I sleep next to her.
Plus, she snores.” She playfully pokes Rozsen in the ribs as she ushers an unprotesting Amelia toward her.
Two doors off of the main living quarters lead into bedrooms—each one designed to hold two double beds, two dressers, and just enough space for books and clothes.
I enter the room to the left and quickly choose the bed closest to the window.
Soft white linens beckon as I sit down, surveying what will be my new home for the next few years.
I spy a door to a private bath off the side of our room.
I’m grateful all four of us don’t have to share one bathroom.
“Okay, Celeste, it’s you and me then,” says Rozsen as she enters the room and plops herself down on the other bed. Her long, merlot red–dyed hair sweeps over her dark complexion and bright, inquisitive brown eyes.
The four of us spend the next few hours settling in, putting our rooms in order and tentatively getting to know one another.
Rozsen and Elliot come from adjacent towns in California, eighth-generation Magicks the both of them.
Rozsen’s element is fire, and Elliot’s is air. Amelia’s element is earth.
“So you must be our water then,” says Amelia, looking at me thoughtfully. “They like to try and split the squads into different elements if they can.”
I nod carefully. “I’m untrained, though. First-generation Magick.” I frown slightly at the thought. “So I’ll have a lot to catch up on.”
My gaze drifts back over to the bay window, to that expanse of blue, as small waves ripple over the lake’s surface. In that moment, I can’t help but hope my father was right—that if water remembers, it will remember me.
Elliot flops back on the sofa. “First-gen? Gods, you’re brave. Don’t most first-gens usually flame out by the end of their second year?”
Rozsen glares at her. “What she means to say is that you must be really talented if you got into Whittaker as a first-gen. Pretty sure most of us won’t be getting through these next four years completely intact.
” She raises her right arm, and I see the fresh burn mark on the outside of her elbow, angry and raw. “If at all.”
She just shrugs like it’s nothing. Like dying is just another possible outcome—right alongside graduating.
“Bet your parents were surprised,” Elliot says. “I was sixteen when I blew my brother across the room for stealing my favorite hoodie. My dad couldn’t have been more proud.”
My eyes widen, but Elliot only grins, like this is a completely normal occurrence.
Most Magicks show an affinity to an element at a young age but are unable to fully draw from them until they are older. It’s rare for anyone under fifteen to have that kind of power. Something to do with the brain requiring a certain hormone to be triggered around then.
Amelia looks up from where she’s sitting. “Rozsen is right. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t already exceptional, Celeste. Normal colleges only teach magickal theory and the basics. Whittaker forges mastery—and only takes the best,” she adds matter-of-factly.
Rozsen’s eyes darken. “Translation? Survive four years of hell, then the government’s Service department gets the right to claim you after.”
Her words land heavy. I twist my ring as I look back out at the lake.
A knock sounds at the door and Magnus’s voice shouts out to meet him in the parlor in thirty minutes.
The eight of us gather in the common room, where two of the guys—Ian and Nate—claim the high-backed purple armchairs.
A few of us settle on the navy-blue sofa that faces a fireplace on the far wall.
The last two members of our squad, Peter and Sawyer, stand by the large bay window opposite the hearth.
Earth and air Magicks; cousins, I believe—they keep close, speaking only to each other.
Magnus steps to the center of the room and walks us through the orientation schedule: the next few days of events, where to find the laundry room and infirmary, the gym and mess hall hours.
When he finishes, he takes a moment, letting the silence settle, then looks each of us in the eye, one by one.
“This is your new home,” he says. “And this squad will be your new family for the next four years.” He smiles then—warm, but with weight behind it.
“This place will test you. Break you. Take until you think you’ve got nothing left.
But I promise—you won’t leave here empty-handed. ”
New family. The phrase cuts deeper than I expect.
I came here haunted by my father’s death—by everything he feared.
But I’m done being the ghost in my own story.
And I can’t help but wonder what these halls will strip away from me, and more importantly—what will be left after.