Jade
The weekend blurs past in a haze of failed training sessions and mounting panic.
Two days of watching Evie and Felix improve, while I fumble every move, electricity crackling under my skin like a caged animal. Two days of holding back so much that my magic’s buzzing from the effort of restraining my power.
I’ve scraped by in Kieran’s regular classes so far by throwing weak fireballs and taking hits I could have dodged.
But the trials? One-on-one combat where holding back might mean failing, and thus, expulsion?
Where losing will land me kitchen or grounds duty for all next semester?
Or worse, having my electricity come out and possibly having to face the ominously mysterious Council?
There won’t be any recovery from that.
When afternoon classes end on Monday, I hurry to Phoenix Hall and push open my door… only to almost step on the folded paper lying just inside. My name’s written on the outside in unfamiliar handwriting, and when I open it, confusion rushes through me even faster.
Worship Center. Crone Chamber. Come alone. Bring your dagger.
That’s it. No signature, no explanation. Just a location and an order to go to a quiet place alone with a weapon.
I should crumple it up. Pretend I never saw it. But the certainty in it makes me pause, and twenty minutes later, I’m entering the Worship Center.
Where the rest of Blaze Academy favors gothic spires and fortress-like walls, the Worship Center is all curves and shadows, built from black volcanic stone. It’s always open, but it’s usually empty at this hour, since everyone’s either at dinner or training.
Three corridors branch off from the center like the roads at a crossroads.
One leads to the Maiden Chamber, one to the Mother, and one to the Crone.
I’ve been here once before, during orientation, when the Headmistress explained that witches could come here to “commune with Hecate in whichever form of hers calls to them.” The Maiden Chamber for new beginnings, the Mother for guidance, and the Crone for.
.. what exactly? Wisdom? Death? Constance had been vague about that one.
I guess that means it’s time to find out. So, straightening, I face the mysterious hallway and push open the door.
Logan stands in the center, hands clasped behind his back, facing the altar. His shoulders are rigid, and there’s a slight tremor in his stance, like he’s vibrating with suppressed energy.
The moment I step inside, he turns to face me, the eternal flame in the corner casting shifting shadows across his face.
“You came,” he says, and it’s not a question. Just an observation. But there’s relief in it, quickly hidden.
“You left the note?” My voice echoes slightly in the chamber.
“We need to talk.” He watches me closely. “And I’m the only person who’s come into this room in days. It’s the perfect meeting spot.”
I step further into the room and… wow. Logan looks good. Unfairly good. His skin has a healthy glow, and his eyes are bright and alive. The hollow exhaustion Evie said he’d have after Miles’s death is nonexistent.
“How are you?” The question slips out before I can think twice. “With Miles, I mean. The backlash...”
“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s too quick. Too sharp.
“Evie said the backlash could last weeks,” I rush to continue. “That some people never fully recover.”
“I said I’m fine. And we’re not here to discuss my recovery. We’re here to discuss Kieran’s trials, and the fact that you’re going to expose yourself if you keep holding back as much as you’ve been doing.”
I swallow and stand my ground, preparing myself for anything.
He steps closer, the firelight from the chandelier overhead making his gray eyes look almost amber.
“One month of training in the Scorched Circles. Multiple witnesses seeing you fail at exercises a child could complete. Either you’re the most incompetent witch ever born, or you’re hiding something.
And we both know exactly what that something is. ”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” The words come out harder than intended. “Stop holding back and let everyone see the electricity?”
“You’re supposed to let me help you.” He’s close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I can smell that cedar-smoke scent that makes my brain short-circuit. Close enough that I can see the barely controlled tension in every line of his body.
It takes every ounce of effort to stop myself from reaching for him. “And how, exactly, do you intend on helping me?” I manage to say.
“Up until now, I’ve used compulsion on Kieran to keep you out of the circles most likely to force you to reveal your magic,” he says simply, as if this is a common fact.
“I was wondering about that.” I tilt my head, studying him, not surprised by his admission.
He gives me a single nod, then continues.
“Because of the nature of the duels, you’re going to eventually end up publicly fighting in every circle.
So, we’re going to train.” The words are simple, but the way he says them—certain and determined—makes my stomach flip.
“I’ll teach you how to contain and control your magic when you fight. ”
My mind immediately starts to spin. “How does that help when Kieran pairs me with Vera? Or Nina? They’ve been training their whole lives.”
“I’m going to make sure you’re prepared for whoever you face.” Something dangerous flickers in his expression. “And I’ll know which circle you’re fighting in before each match.”
“But Kieran isn’t going to tell us ahead of time what circle we’re going to fight in each week.”
“Compulsion, remember?” Logan actually gives me a small smile. “I’m going to tell him which circle to put you in each week, and who you’ll be fighting against. We’ll train specifically for that combination.”
The air between us buzzes with so much tension that I have no idea how my electricity hasn’t forced its way out of my skin.
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself as the question I keep circling back to pops into my mind.
“Why do you care whether or not I get exposed?” I search his face, looking for the real reason, the one he’s been dancing around for weeks.
Why do I matter to you at all?
“Because I’ll help you control your magic during the trials, and you’ll keep quiet about what I can do.” His expression shifts to something more businesslike. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
The warmth in my chest turns to ice.
A transaction. That’s all this ever was to him.
But I need to take every advantage I can get right now. Plus, I won’t exactly hate the time spent with Logan.
“Fine.” I cross my arms. “But we need to clarify what I’m working toward. Because right now, my goals are pretty simple: don’t die, don’t get exposed, don’t accidentally electrocute anyone, and maybe figure out why I have electricity in my veins when I should only have fire.”
“I just need you to trust me.” He says it like it’s simple.
“That’s not an answer.”
He raises an eyebrow. “To which question?”
“You’re making fun of me.” I cross my arms and glare at him.
“I’m not making fun of you,” he says, and for a moment his control slips, a genuine smile ghosting his face before he locks it down again. “I’m simply acknowledging that you’re a curious person.”
“Yes, I’m wonderfully curious.” I give him a fake enthusiastic smile that would make Margot proud.
“Now, let me grace you with more of my curiosity, because right now it feels like I’m stumbling from one crisis to the next with no end goal in mind.
Like… what happens after I have control?
Will I have to hide my power forever? Will I ever fit in anywhere I go?
Or am I doomed to be a supernatural outcast for the rest of my life? ”
His jaw tightens. “Right now, you survive. You win a minimum of three duels without exposing what you are. Then we figure out why you have impossible magic, and who might want to use it or eliminate it.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
“First, we’re going to give you access.” He turns and moves toward a wall of carved names, running his fingers over the obsidian. “Freedom to move through the academy without being seen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Watch carefully.” He positions himself in front of four names in the center of the hundreds carved into the wall and speaks each of them aloud. “Ulla Skaard. Béatrice Sault. Clíodhna Rourke. Erzsébet Varga.”
The names mean nothing to me, but the careful way he says them makes my breathing slow, as if I’m subconsciously doing everything I can to not distract him.
He remains focused on the wall. “You touch each name with flame-heated magic while speaking the incantation.” He demonstrates the motion without actually touching them. “By the Crone’s dark wisdom, through death’s own door, I claim passage, to the halls before.”
“That’s it?” My gaze moves from him to the names and back to him again. “Touch some names and say a creepy poem?”
He turns back around to face me. “That’s far from it, and they’re not just any names. They’re the four founding witches who built these chambers. They created passages through the academy, hidden routes that have been lost to time. Almost no one knows they exist.”
My pulse quickens. “If almost no one knows they exist, then how do you know they exist?”
“That doesn’t matter.” He shrugs it off and steps closer again, his eyes locked on mine, as if he’s trying to distract me with that penetrating gaze of his.
It works.
He continues, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “What matters is that with access to these passages, you can move through the academy like a ghost.”
I shake my head, since it doesn’t quite add up. “And you’re just... giving me this information? Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I told you,” he says carefully, like he’s reining in every ounce of control he has left. “What we’re doing together is mutually beneficial.”
There’s more he’s not saying. I can feel it in the way he’s looking at me and from the tension buzzing in the air.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe we don’t need to dissect every feeling and motivation. Maybe it’s enough that he wants to help me when I obviously need the help.
So, I straighten, ready for whatever he might throw my way next. “Show me again,” I say. “The names. The order. The incantation.”
Relief flashes across his face, and he goes through the sequence again, slower this time, making sure I memorize each name and its position.
“Touch Ulla Skaard and say, ‘By the Crone’s dark wisdom,’” he instructs. “Then Béatrice Sault with ‘through death’s own door.’ Clíodhna Rourke gets ‘I claim passage,’ and finally Erzsébet Varga with ‘to the halls before.’”
I repeat the sentence a few more times to make sure I get it right, then take a deep breath and approach the wall. My hand hovers over the first name—Ulla Skaard. The obsidian feels cold beneath my fingertips, but the moment I channel heat into my touch and speak the words, the stone warms.
I do it again with the second name, then again with the third.
After I touch the last name and the final words of the incantation leave my lips, the four names blaze bright as fresh blood, and the solid obsidian wall shimmers out of existence.
Where there was stone, there’s now a doorway into darkness.
“Holy shit.” I gaze inside, trying to see what’s there and failing miserably.
Logan moves toward it, prepares to step inside, then looks back to me. “Follow me,” he says, and then, just like that, he’s gone.
My heart pounds. Because I do not want to stay in this creepy chamber alone. I also don’t want to step into that dark passage, but Logan’s in there, and I have no interest in chickening out now.
I step inside before I can think better of it.
The darkness swallows me whole. Then, torches flare to life along stone walls, and I gaze around, observing my surroundings.
We’re in a small chamber, maybe ten feet across, with an altar dominating the center. Four medium sized bowls are arranged on its surface.
The door seals behind us with a grinding sound that makes my stomach drop.
I spin to face Logan, electricity already crackling across my palms. “What the hell is going on? What is this place?”
“It’s the test chamber. We’re not in the passages yet, and access isn’t granted freely, since the founders wanted to ensure only the worthy could use their creation.
Now, you’ll complete trials to earn the right to use the passages.
” He moves to the altar, studying the strange bowls.
“Four trials, each created by one of the founding witches. Blood, memory, pain, and death.”