Jade
The library smells like dust and old paper, a mustiness that comes from centuries of knowledge slowly decomposing. I’ve been here for basically the entire weekend, and my brain’s exhausted from hunching over ancient texts that make my eyes water.
No internet. No search function. No Logan making an effort to find me and talk to me after what happened at the Drowned Tower.
Evie had no advice about how to find him, and she looked suspicious that I asked at all. And since it’s the weekend, there are no proctor hours set aside for students to talk to him. So, it looks like I’m going to have to wait to seek him out until this week during the designated time slots.
To make it worse, my thoughts keep drifting to him, which is making my research pretty slow going.
But after enough time in the mythology section, I figured out what the water mermaids are—Lampades.
Twelve books later, I’ve combed through enough sources to confidently say that the Lampades serve Hecate, guide lost souls through the crossroads, and protect witches.
Not one mentions them trying to drown people at parties or having tentacles that can crush stone.
“Finding what you need?”
I jump, nearly knocking over my stack of books.
Miles stands at the end of my table, looking like he stepped out of a catalog for “Dark Academia Aesthetics.” Even his ink stains look intentional.
“Just trying to catch up.” I gesture at my book fortress. “Turns out there’s a lot to learn when you miss the first eighteen years of witch education.”
“Ambitious.” He sets down his own armload of books with practiced ease. “Most first-years stick to the assigned readings.”
“Yeah, well.” I close Sacred Servants harder than necessary. “I’m not most first-years.”
“No, you’re certainly not.” He studies me for one second longer than is comfortable. “The girl who didn’t know she was a witch until two weeks ago, now deep-diving into obscure mythology texts. Quite the transformation.”
My skin prickles, but I keep my voice light. “What can I say? I love learning.”
The way his head tilts tells me he doesn’t buy it. “What exactly are you looking for?” he asks. “Maybe I could point you toward more relevant sources.”
“Everything, honestly.” I wave around generically, needing to switch the topic fast so I don’t get caught in my lie. “The basics everyone else learned as kids. Magical theory, creature classifications, goddess worship. Did you know there’s an actual worship center here at school?”
“The Trinity Chamber.” He nods. “Although ‘worship’ might be too strong a word. More like... acknowledgment of our connection to the divine.”
“Right.” I fidget with my pencil. “Anyway, what brings you to the library on a perfectly good Sunday night?”
“Research.” He gestures his stack of books. “Working on my end-of-semester paper.”
“Already? It’s only September.”
“I prefer to be thorough. And my topic requires extensive research into some rather esoteric sources.”
“What’s it on?” I ask, partly from curiosity, and partly to keep him from asking me more questions.
“My working title is Hecate at the Crossroads of Flame and Time: Intersections of Liminal Deities in Witchcraft.” He says it like he’s practiced, which he probably has.
“That sounds...” I search for a polite word that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot for not understanding what the hell he’s talking about. “Complicated.”
“Exceedingly.” He pulls out his notebook. “The intersection of temporal magic and divine intervention raises questions about causality, prophecy, and the nature of free will itself.”
“Wow.” If my brain couldn’t keep up before, it certainly can’t now. Half those words sound like they’re a completely different language. “Good luck with that.”
“Thank you.” He opens the notebook to a page covered in diagrams. “I’ll leave you to your studies. The basic mythology texts are on the third shelf. Much more accessible than what you’re currently reading.”
The dismissal stings a little, even though it’s likely good advice. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Happy to help.” He gathers his books and moves to a table across the library, his walk precise, not looking back at me once.
I return to my research, but my concentration is shot. The books blur together, all saying the same nothing. Hecate loves witches. Lampades protect witches.
So, why did they try to kill us? Does my electricity magic make it so I’m not a witch at all? Do the Lampades think I’m dangerous to witches? Do they think Logan’s dangerous, too, because of his ability to compel witches?
I have no idea.
But that’s why I’m here. To find out.
So, I head to the third shelf, pull out the first book, and get back to work.
Two hours later, I’m no closer to understanding why Hecate’s servants wanted me and Logan dead.
Throwing in the towel for the night, I gather my things and make my way to the library’s center, where ornate bronze tables sit beneath a high ceiling painted with constellations.
Alessandra Sterling occupies one of these prime study spots, surrounded by perfectly organized books, looking like she belongs in a Southern Living photoshoot.
My stomach knots as I remember the hate in her eyes when she accused me of using devil’s magic, the fear when Logan pressed her own blade to her throat, and the sudden compliance after he compelled her to forget it all.
I should ignore her. Walk by as if we’re strangers. Logan’s compulsion magic worked on Evie—she didn’t remember finding me and Logan on the second floor—and I trust it worked on Alessandra, too.
But as I move past her, Alessandra looks up and locks her gaze with mine, studying me for an uncomfortably long moment.
Shit. I was staring at her, and she knows it.
Way for me to be awkward. Especially since even though Alessandra’s forgotten about my electricity magic, Logan didn’t compel her to stop hating me because of whatever “threat” I pose to Callie.
That sort of attitude is part of who she is, and there’s no reason to think it’s changed in the two days since the party.
I’m turning around to leave—pretending like the whole awkwardly meeting eyes across the room thing was an accident—when she speaks.
“Care to join me?”
She motions to the empty chair across from her, as if we were meeting for a planned study session and she’s been waiting for me.
I freeze, feeling trapped. I need to get out of here. I don’t want to talk to her. But now she’s giving me that conniving southern smile of hers, as if her invitation is some sort of challenge. As if she’s testing me to see if I’m scared of her or not.
No way in hell am I letting Alessandra Sterling intimidate me.
So, I take a deep breath and walk over, trying not to shake so much that I drop the books I’m holding and give myself away.
As I set them down and take a seat, Alessandra watches me in what might almost be approval. Then, in the most jolting move ever, she returns to her studies as if I’m not here at all.
Fine. If she wants me to start, then I’ll start.
“Productive Sunday?” I try, arranging my books into something less chaotic.
“Always. It’s the kind of initiative Professor Thaddeus notices.” She turns a page with deliberate precision. “He mentioned you and Nina had... interesting perspectives in ethics class the other day.”
The way she says interesting makes it sound like problematic.
“He discussed us in another class?”
“His advanced studies group.” She switches highlighters, each color perfectly organized. “Callie and I both attend, naturally. Oliver Thorne as well. Your names came up on Friday afternoon during a discussion about unconventional thinking.”
Of course Callie’s in the advanced class. Of course they discuss first-years like specimens.
“That’s...” I search for a neutral response. “Nice of him to notice.”
“Thad appreciates students who challenge the norms. Theoretically, obviously—never actually. Although sometimes what first-years consider revolutionary is simply naive.” She makes another note in her perfect handwriting.
“Real ethical complexity requires understanding nuance while examining hypothetical situations, not just questioning everything for the sake of creating a commotion.”
Condescension drips from every word, but there’s no hint of Friday night. No recognition of the electricity crackling across my skin, and her accusation that I was using devil’s magic.
I start gathering my books. “Right. Well, I should let you get back to your... nuanced studying,” I say, ready to get away from her before she has a chance to whip out her dagger on me for the second time this weekend.
At least I have my dagger on me this time, so I’ll be ready to fight back with the little skills I’ve learned these past two weeks.
Which, to be fair, isn’t much, minus the sheer luck I had while fighting the Lampades with Logan.
And that wasn’t really luck as much as it was Logan guiding me through everything I needed to do.
“One moment.” She looks up at me, all wide-eyed and innocent. “Since you’re here, I should mention—Logan and Callie have been working through some things. Privately.”
I roll my eyes. Because of course she brought me over here to mention this, since she doesn’t remember doing it the first time.
Her gaze sharpens as she observes my reaction. “It would be best if certain first-years didn’t misinterpret his professional obligations.”
My spine stiffens. “Professional obligations?”
“The proctor position requires availability to all students.” Her sugar sweet smile does nothing to hide her condescending thoughts.
“Some people, however, mistake that accessibility for personal interest. It’s embarrassing for everyone involved when boundaries are.
.. misunderstood. Wouldn’t you say so, Jade? ”
Heat floods my cheeks. But I refuse to let her win.
“Thanks for the concern,” I manage, my voice steady despite the electricity begging to spark at my fingertips. “But I can figure out boundaries on my own.”
“Can you?” She tilts her head, studying me in that unnerving way of hers.
“Because from where I sit, you seem to be struggling with quite a few. Social hierarchies, magical limitations, appropriate study materials...” She gestures at my books.
“Perhaps focus on catching up with basic curriculum before diving into advanced topics you can’t possibly understand. ”
Each word lands like a precision strike.
She might not remember attacking me, but she doesn’t need to. Her everyday cruelty is sharp enough.
I stand, clutching my books to my chest. “I’ll keep that in mind. Enjoy your studying.”
“Oh, I always do.” She’s already dismissed me, returning to her color-coded notes. “Do be careful with those heavy books. We wouldn’t want you to overextend yourself.”
I escape before the electricity can force its way out, before she can see how her words hit their mark.
Because Logan’s compulsion worked completely.
No cracks, no bleeding memories. It should be a relief.
But as I dump my books on the return cart, all I can think about is Logan and Callie “working through things.” Privately.
The way she touched him at the Forge Night party.
And how I haven’t heard from him all weekend.
It’s like he’s forgotten I exist entirely.
My hands shake as I leave the library, and this time it’s not from fear of Lampades.
It’s from the sick feeling that maybe Alessandra’s words hit closer to the truth than any compelled memory ever could.