Jade
The fancy lecture hall at Blaze makes even the ones at Yale look plain, since the school is a literal castle, and it never lets you forget it.
Colorful, detailed tapestries cover the walls, depicting what I assume are various important moments in supernatural history.
The air smells faintly of smoke, and narrow arched windows cut through the fortress walls, letting in slivers of gray daylight.
Tiered seating rises toward vaulted ceilings where chandeliers hang overhead, their flames casting dancing shadows across twenty-four tense faces sitting at the elegant brass tables.
In my two weeks here so far, I’ve noticed that barely anything at the academy is made of wood. Too much of a fire hazard.
Professor Thaddeus Morgrave stands at the front of the classroom, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the firelight as he writes across the startlingly normal-looking chalkboard with sharp, decisive strokes.
“The Ethics of Fire Compulsion.” He turns from the board, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Strong witches can influence emotions through their flames. They can suggest actions and implant ideas. They cannot, however, create love where none exists, cannot fundamentally change someone’s core nature, and most importantly—“ his gaze sweeps the room, “—they cannot compel other witches.”
My pen races across my notebook as I write down as much as possible.
“There are restrictions on when, why, and how powerful compulsion can be used,” Thad continues.
“The Council of Covens permits fire compulsion in cases of immediate threat exposure, self-defense, or when authorized by a coven leader. Deep memory modification follows stricter protocols, requiring documentation and review.”
When I finally take a second to breathe, I realize that most people aren’t bothering to write any of this down, since apparently, these are commonly known facts around here.
“Now, let’s explore a hypothetical scenario,” Thad continues, leaning against his desk.
“Your sibling—say, a sister—falls in love with a human. The relationship is getting serious, and she’s told you she intends on revealing the truth of what she is to her boyfriend without a Council member present, which violates protocol.
” He looks to me when he says that last part, since I’m probably the only one in here who doesn’t know anything about the Council’s protocols.
“You have reason to believe that when her boyfriend learns the truth, it will end badly and result in exposure. Do you use compulsion on him to push him toward breaking up with your sister before it reaches that point?”
A ripple of unease passes through the room. Chairs creak. Pens still. Someone coughs too loudly.
“Never,” I blurt out before my brain catches up, since I’d never do something like that to Holly, despite our many differences. “You can’t decide someone else’s relationship like that for them. You can’t make someone stop loving someone else.”
Heat floods my face as every head in the room swivels toward me.
Most of them are frowning or looking at me in clear disapproval, and a quick glance at my notes reminds me that while Thad said we can’t create love where none exists, he didn’t mention anything about stopping someone from loving someone else.
Although can’t that fit in with not being able to change a person’s core nature?
If someone loves another person—true, deep love—does that not become a core part of who they are?
I think so, but I’m far from an expert on soul deep romance, given that my ex broke up with me when he learned we wouldn’t be going to Yale together and started dating my ex best friend a day later.
Even though I’m not the biggest fan of what I’ve learned so far about compulsion, it would have been heaven to have had that pain compelled out of my heart.
Garrett twists in his seat, his voice carrying from the front row, forcing me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“If we want to reveal our nature to a human, the Council requires we get permission from them first and have the conversation with at least one of them present,” he says, like he’s speaking to a particularly annoying child.
“After all, what happens if the human panics? If they tell their family and friends, and it spreads? The Council has to be there so they can do whatever’s necessary to stop that from happening. ”
Nina cuts in. “Whatever’s ‘necessary’ can include wiping your existence from that human’s mind, or worse,” she says.
“Would you really risk having yourself wiped from the memory of someone you love because they didn’t react the way the Council wanted, in the time frame the Council allowed?
You’d put them at the Council’s mercy like that? ”
“The Council’s memory protocols exist because humans have historically reacted badly to magic,” Garrett replies, no emotion in his tone whatsoever.
“That was in the past,” Nina fires back. “Now you want to destroy something real for something that might happen.”
“You’re being naive—”
“You’re being a dictator.”
The word hangs in the air like a lit match near kindling.
Evie places her pen down, takes a deep breath, and chimes in.
“The Council has enough to deal with when it comes to cleaning up the messes left by shifters and vampires,” she says.
“As fellow witches, it’s our responsibility to follow the laws created by our kind, to ensure stability between species.
If even one exposure goes wrong, it risks unraveling centuries of progress.
The Council’s not perfect, but it exists for a reason.
Order protects everyone—magical and human alike. ”
I look between the three of them in shock, trying to process everything they’re saying. “You’re talking about erasing someone’s entire relationship. Their choices, their memories, their love—“
“Love that could put people at risk,” Garrett interrupts. “Not just the witch, but their coven. Their family. Every supernatural in their town or city.”
Nina’s eyes blaze. “So, today human-witch pairings are unacceptable. Tomorrow it’s witches from feuding covens. Next week they’re arranging marriages for bloodline purity.”
Garrett leans forward, glaring like he wants to scorch her with his stare. “That’s completely different—”
“Is it?” She doesn’t flinch. “Once they decide they have the right to control who people love, where does it stop?”
Felix fidgets with his pen, tapping it against the table and leaving tiny scorch marks on the brass. “What about all the times it’s gone wrong?” he asks. “Humans who’ve learned about magic… it usually ends badly.”
“Says who?” Nina challenges. “The same people doing the memory wipes? How convenient that all evidence of successful human-witch relationships gets erased.”
Garrett slams his hand on the table, sparks of fire flying up from beneath his palm, and everyone looks to him. “That’s how we’ve stayed hidden for centuries,” he argues. “Memory modification keeps us safe.”
“Safe from what?” Nina shoots back. “From humans who might accept us if they were given time to process the truth instead of being forced in front of Council members who tamper with their memory and do gods know what else to them? Maybe we’re living in fear of dangers that barely exist anymore because the Council benefits from keeping us isolated and afraid. ”
“That’s conspiracy theory nonsense,” Garrett says. “The Council protects us. They maintain the treaties between species, they keep the peace—”
“And they keep control,” Nina interrupts.
The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken accusations. Several students won’t meet Nina’s eyes. Vera’s knuckles have gone white around her pen. Evie’s stopped taking notes.
Thad claps once, breaking the tension. “Excellent discussion,” he says, paying extra attention to Nina and Garrett. “For next week, I want two pages on where you would draw the line with using compulsion. Use historical examples from the Council Archives to support your position.”
My head spins as I write down the assignment.
Historical examples. From archives I’ve never seen, about a Council I learned existed five minutes ago, that’s either concerned about witches or controlling of them, depending on who you ask.
Great. Just great.
As we pack up, Thad adds, “Remember that these aren’t just theoretical exercises.
Many of you will face these exact dilemmas after graduation, since the Council’s enforcement division actively recruits from Blaze Academy.
Which brings me to one more thing: at the end of the semester, I’ll be selecting three first-year students for my advanced study group. ”
The energy in the room shifts immediately. Garrett straightens in his seat. Evie’s hand stills on her bag zipper. Nina watches Thad intently, sizing him up like she does to anyone around her.
“It’s a small seminar,” Thad continues, his gaze lingering on Nina, then Garrett, then Evie.
“We dive deeper into the philosophical implications of fire magic and explore texts that aren’t widely available.
” His eyes find mine next, and I resist the urge to look away.
“Previous members have gone on to positions in magical law enforcement, inter-species relations, and advisory roles in various covens.”
Jobs. Right. Because apparently after learning magic exists, surviving death trials, and debating mind control ethics, I’ll need to update my LinkedIn with “Fire Witch” as a skill set.
“Selection is based on demonstrated potential,” Thad adds. “Not just magical ability, but depth of thought. The willingness to question, learn, and maintain an open mind while navigating difficult circumstances.”
Garrett’s jaw tightens. He’s probably calculating exactly how many ass-kissing papers he’ll need to write… and who he can bribe to write them for him. At least that’s what my ex, Chase, would be doing, and the two of them remind me a lot of each other.
Thad waves us off with a casual gesture. “That’s all for today. Remember—two pages, historical examples, due next Tuesday.”
The scramble to leave is loud and undercut with competition. Shoulders bump harder than necessary. Eyes flick sharp with calculation.
As I grab my things, I try to process this new information. A mysterious advanced study group. Restricted texts. Jobs. I didn’t know what I wanted to do after Yale, let alone after witch college.
Who the hell thought it was a good idea to invite me to attend Blaze Academy? Because it really does seem like they got the wrong Jade Harrington.
“Miss Harrington,” Thad startles me by calling out my name, beckoning me to his desk.
Other students file past, shooting curious glances my way.
Great. More attention I don’t need.
Nina’s the last one to leave, and she shares a final look with Thad before she’s gone.
“The library can be overwhelming,” he says now that we’re alone.
“Centuries of knowledge, most of it contradictory.” He pulls out a piece of paper and scribbles something down with an old, expensive-looking fountain pen.
“Start with these three texts. They’ll give you the foundation you need without the bias of some other sources. ”
I take it, surprised by how much more elegant his handwriting is on the paper than it is on the board.
“Thanks for the help,” I tell him, because what else am I supposed to say?
Clearly, I need the help, and at least he’s willing to give it to me instead of dismissing me like most of the others are doing around here.
“Question everything you read,” he adds, those brown eyes serious now. “History is written by whoever controls the fire. And your point today about not having the right to decide for others? Don’t lose that.”
“Is that why you’re interested in Nina?” I ask. “Because she questions things?”
“I’m interested in all my students.” His gaze drifts to the door. “Some more than others. The Thornes, for instance, are such a dedicated family. Always willing to go the extra mile for knowledge.”
“That sounds like Evie,” I say, which earns me a real smile from him.
“Now, I don’t want to make you late for lunch,” he continues. “My office hours are Mondays and Wednesdays after classes. If you have questions, come find me.”
I thank him again and leave, the paper in my hand feeling heavier than it should. Like it carries the weight of all the history I don’t know.
Advanced study group. Three spots. Twenty-four students.
And somehow, even though I knew nothing about this world two weeks ago, Thad seems to want to help me have a shot.