Jade
We’re in what can only be described as the world’s most elaborate castle-like living room, although that hardly does it justice.
The ceiling soars overhead, supported by massive stone pillars carved with intricate flame patterns.
Heavy tapestries hang between them, each one depicting witches wielding fire, the threads shimmering in the light.
But most striking is the circular fire pit built into the floor.
It’s easily twenty feet across, with flames dancing in its center like they’re performing for an audience.
“Welcome to Phoenix Hall.”
The voice belongs to a woman who steps out from behind one of the pillars.
She’s tall, maybe late forties, with dark brown hair streaked with silver.
Her robes fit perfectly, her posture is commanding, and there’s a weight to the way she carries herself that says this isn’t just her hall.
It’s her world, and she’s allowing us into it.
“Evelyn Thorne.” Her sharp gaze lands on Evie. “Your mother speaks highly of your heat detection abilities.”
Evie’s mouth falls open. “You know my mother?”
“Vera Jackson.” She continues like Evie hadn’t spoken. “Your family’s combat legacy precedes you.”
Vera straightens, pride flickering across her face.
“Garrett Sinclair.” A pause. “The Sinclairs have always been... ambitious.”
Garrett puffs up, oblivious to the subtle insult.
“Samuel Reeves.” Her lips twitch slightly. “I hear you’ve memorized every text on mythological creatures published in the last century.”
Sam flushes crimson. “Well, not every—”
“Nina Aldridge.” Those sharp eyes linger longer on Nina than anyone else. “Precision, control, and the power of observation. Valuable traits.”
Nina nods once, giving nothing away.
Then those eyes find me, and I swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
“Jade Harrington.” She says my name like both a question and an accusation. “Most unexpected.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot lately,” I mutter.
“I imagine you do.” She watches me for another heartbeat. “Tell me, Miss Harrington—do you believe in coincidences?”
“I... what?”
“Never mind.” She turns back to address us all, and I swear the chandeliers dim slightly.
“I’m Constance Holbrook, Headmistress of Blaze Academy.
Welcome to your new home. There will be a full introduction tonight, but for now, your room assignments.
Vera Jackson and Nina Aldridge. Samuel Reeves and Garrett Sinclair. Jade Harrington and Evelyn Thorne.”
“Wait, we’re roommates?” Evie bounces, spinning toward me. “This is perfect! I have so many questions about your magical development—”
“The portal you just traveled through,” Constance cuts in smoothly, “is only active on arrival day. Once all students are here, it deactivates until winter break and again at year’s end.”
My stomach drops. “So we can’t leave?”
“Not without permission.” Her gaze cuts to me. “The island is heavily warded, and the waters surrounding it are inhospitable, to say the least. For your safety, you’ll remain on academy grounds unless granted leave.”
Trapped.
The word slams into me, echoing in my skull. I’m trapped on an island with monsters that regenerate, witches who fight like seasoned warriors, and a kiss that felt like everything but was dismissed as nothing.
Sparks prickle in my palm, useless and mocking, a reminder of how little I belong here.
“You’re the third group to arrive,” Constance continues. “Six more students will join us shortly, bringing our first-year class to its full twenty-four.”
Twenty-four. It seems like such a small number. Even Dalton, which was a small private school, had around seventy people in each class.
“Follow me.” Constance pivots on her heel, clearly expecting obedience. “You’ll want to settle in before the sigil ceremony.”
“Sigil ceremony?” I whisper to Evie as we fall in line.
“How do you not—never mind.” She shakes her head. “I’ll explain everything soon.”
The seven of us climb a stone staircase that spirals up from the common room, centering around the giant hearth below. As I glance down at it, the orange flames flicker in a way that looks slightly unstable.
“Your belongings have been delivered to your rooms,” Constance says without looking back. “Sandwiches as well. You’re not permitted to leave Phoenix Hall until after the ceremony.”
“Why not?” Garrett asks.
“Because you haven’t earned it yet.” Her tone makes it clear further questions won’t be tolerated.
Eventually, we reach a long, stone-walled hallway lined with heavy doors. Each has a different symbol carved into the door—flames, phoenixes, stars, and even a hydra.
Constance stops at the first door, which bears an intricate carving of a phoenix rising from flames. “Miss Harrington, Miss Thorne. This is your room. Ceremonial robes are laid out on your beds. Six o’clock sharp at the Emberhearth. Don’t be late.”
“How do we get in?” I ask, since there are no doorknobs or keyholes.
Her mouth curves slightly. “After tonight, your sigil will serve as your key. Until then...” She presses her palm against the door, and it swings open. “The doors remain unlocked.”
Hesitantly, I peer inside.
The room is like someone gave a Gothic architect an unlimited budget and told them to go wild. Two curtained beds, massive wardrobes, and desks that look older than my family’s Manhattan brownstone. On a silver tray, sandwiches wait beside neatly folded red velvet robes.
“Six o’clock,” Constance repeats, moving on to show the others their rooms.
The door closes, and Evie turns to me with bright eyes. “Okay, spill. How did you not know you’re a witch? How’s that even possible?”
I collapse onto the bed that has my luggage at its foot, somehow intact despite T abandoning me earlier. “Would you believe me if I said the only thing I worried about this morning was that none of my friends were going to talk to me again since I wasn’t heading to an Ivy League school?”
“No.” She plops down on the other bed, her eyes shining with curiosity. “The Hydra fight wasn’t your first time using magic. I could tell.”
I stare at my hands and contemplate how much to tell her, eventually deciding the truth won’t hurt, since everything’s out in the open here anyway.
“I’ve been able to make flames appear without matches since I was younger.
But whenever someone asked me to prove it, I froze. The magic wouldn’t come.”
“Performance anxiety.” Evie nods. “Super common in young witches.”
“So, I stopped talking about it,” I continue. “Started carrying a lighter everywhere so people would think that’s what I was using. Eventually, I almost convinced myself it wasn’t real, and that I was imagining it, like everyone always told me I was.”
“But it is real.” She leans forward in excitement. “You fought a Hydra today. You fire traveled. You used magic.”
“Barely.” I glance at my hand, remembering those pathetic sparks fizzling off my fingertips while everyone else threw fire around like pros. “I’m clearly the worst witch here.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “But the academy doesn’t make mistakes with their invitations, which means you’re here for a reason. You just don’t know it yet.”
Her words sink like embers in my chest as I flash back to the silver electricity that ran through my sword, and whatever the hell lightning storm happened on the jet. Not to mention T abandoning me, almost being eaten alive because of failed wards, and the kiss with Logan…
It’s too much to process right now. Especially because the day is far from over.
“So, what’s this sigil ceremony?” I ask, not wanting to be as clueless and helpless during it as I was in the Hydra trial.
Evie’s face lights up, like she’s been waiting for me to ask.
“It’s how we gain access to the academy.
The sigil marks us as Blaze students, lets us into our rooms, the classrooms, the library—well, the parts of the library where first-years are allowed.
We’ll get a basic flame sigil, and we’ll add to it each year until we graduate. ”
“And they’ll burn it into our skin?” I eye the ceremonial robes with new suspicion.
“Sort of. It’s a magical ember. It’ll become part of you.” She raises her right palm. “Right here.”
I glance at the same spot on my hand, then pick up my sandwich—turkey and Swiss, exactly what I would have picked. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since... when? This morning before leaving home?
That feels like a lifetime ago.
“We should shower and change,” Evie says, already rummaging through her trunk. “First impressions matter, especially at the ceremony.”
I touch my tangled hair and grimace. There are definitely still leaves in there from my roll through the forest with Logan.
Maybe a few twigs as well. It’s amazing there aren’t cuts and bruises all over my body, although given how quickly my palm healed after being sliced with the sword, I suppose witches have supernatural healing, too.
I’ve never had supernatural healing, but it apparently decided to show its face once I was in real danger. At least that’s one good thing I have going for me. Maybe there’s hope, after all.
“A shower sounds good,” I agree.
But as I gather my things, I know I’m in way over my head. Because everyone here knows what they are and where they belong. And I’m just Jade Harrington—dead bloodline, pathetic sparks, and the worst witch Blaze Academy ever made the mistake of inviting into its hallowed halls.
When I emerge from the bathroom, steam from the shower still clinging to my skin, Evie’s already changed and sitting cross-legged on her bed like she’s preparing to give a lecture.
“Crash course time.” She leans forward and cracks her knuckles. “My family owns the largest magical texts publishing house in the country and I’m the fourth Thorne sibling to come through Blaze, so you’re getting your briefing from the best source here.”
“Fourth?” I blink. “That sounds like a coven on its own.”
“My brother Oliver’s here, too. Third-year.” She rolls her eyes, but affection softens the edge. “He basically runs the social scene at Blaze. Everyone’s favorite Thorne. Which means I’ll have to work twice as hard if I want anyone to notice me for me instead of as his younger sister.”
“It was the same thing with my older sister, too.” My voice comes out quieter than I meant it to as I think about the perfect Holly Harrington, two years older than me, who lives up to everything expected of her—other than choosing Harvard over Yale, my parents’ alma mater.
My heart hurts at the reminder of my failures—the one thing I was finally going to do right was having Yale as my first-choice school—and I busy myself with my trunk, unpacking clothes that smell like home.
As I dig deeper, a chill creeps over me.
“Where’s my phone?” I throw another jacket to the floor in my search. “And my laptop?”
Evie winces. “About that. Blaze is kind of… old school.”
I freeze, my favorite sweater in my hands. “Define ‘old school.’”
“No internet. No cell service. The wards around the island are too strong—technology glitches out.”
The sweater slips from my grip. “No internet?”
“None.”
“No Instagram? No texts? No Netflix?” My voice rises with each word.
“We have a library?” Evie offers, almost apologetically. “I’m excellent at getting around libraries. Comes with the territory of being surrounded by ancient grimoires and first edition spell books my entire life.”
I sink onto my bed, barely able to focus on a word she’s saying. “So, I can’t even tell my parents I made it here alive?”
“Oh, they already know.” She waves a hand like it’s nothing. “The academy handles all that. Memory modification is pretty standard for witch-human interactions.”
I stare at her like she’s speaking a foreign language. “They messed with my parents’ minds?”
“Just little adjustments. Making them comfortable with the situation, not worried about the lack of communication—”
My stomach twists, horror setting in. “That’s why they didn’t ask questions about this place. Why they didn’t care about where they were shipping me off to.”
“Exactly.” Evie nods slowly, as if it should have been obvious. “The academy likely smoothed things out before your letter arrived.”
“So, they’ve been controlling my parents this whole time?”
“Not controlling. Just... adjusting their concerns. Making them feel like sending you here was natural, nothing to worry about. Probably that it was just like any other college.”
“No. That’s not natural. That’s manipulation.” Anger spikes through my exhaustion, sharp and hot. “What happens when months pass and I don’t call or text? Won’t they wonder where I am?”
Will they remember I exist at all?
The possibility’s so horrible I can’t speak it out loud.
“They won’t notice.” Evie’s tone softens, almost pitying. “The memory work is thorough. They’ll think you’re checking in regularly, and that everything’s fine.”
I want to scream, to rage against the violation of it all.
But the bitter truth settles in before I can.
Because my parents wouldn’t have wanted much contact, anyway.
Even if I’d gotten into Yale, they would have been relieved to tuck me away, out of sight, so they could enjoy the Manhattan social scene without worrying about what trouble I was getting myself into around the city.
“This is insane,” I mutter, even though it feels more like surrender than rebellion.
“This is our world.” Evie rises, smoothing her crimson robes with practiced grace. “Speaking of, it’s 5:50. We should head down.”
Not having much else of a choice, I grab the red velvet robes from my bed. They’re heavier than I expected, with intricate embroidery along the sleeves that ripples in the light.
“Do I wear this over my clothes?” I hold it up, trying to figure out where to start with putting it on.
“Yes. Here, let me help.” Evie steps close, helps me get my arms into the sleeves, and adjusts the clasps until the fabric falls perfectly over my shoulders. “There. You look like a proper witch now.”
I glance at the ornate full-length mirror, surprised at what I see.
Because the robes transform me from the girl who didn’t get into Yale into something sharp, otherworldly, and alive.
The dark red deepens the flecks of gold in my green eyes, and for the first time since stepping into that clearing, I look like I might belong here.
“Ready?” Evie asks.
“No,” I say, although I follow her to the door anyway. “But when has that stopped me today?”