Jade
Logan’s posture is tight, his gaze heavy, as if one wrong word could send me bolting for the exit.
“You can walk away now if you want to,” he says slowly.
“I’ll open the door that leads out of here, we’ll be back in the Worship Center, and we’ll forget this ever happened.
“You’ll enter Kieran’s tournament unprepared, likely reveal your electricity magic, and face the Council’s punishment, all for simply existing as something different. ”
“Or?” I ask, since revealing my electricity magic and facing the Council aren’t high on my list of what I want to accomplish during my time at Blaze Academy.
“Or you trust me and let me guide you through the trials.” He steps closer, close enough that I can see the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “Because with my help, you’re going to pass them.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can prepare you for exactly what’s coming. You’ll be one step ahead the entire time. With me by your side, you can’t lose.”
I want to argue. I want to call bullshit, to demand him to explain how he can possibly know what’s coming. But there’s something in his eyes that roots me to the spot, a fierce conviction that makes me believe him.
“Fine,” I say, steadier than I feel. “But if this kills me, I’m haunting your ass forever.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He nods in approval, then moves to the first bowl, which is marked with runes.
“Each bowl represents what that founding witch valued most. Ulla Skaard believed in blood sacrifice—meaningful magic that requires meaningful loss. You’ll give enough blood to genuinely weaken yourself, to prove you’re willing to sacrifice your strength for the opportunity the founders are giving you to enter their greatest creation. ”
I shake my head in confusion. “So, I need to put myself at even more of a disadvantage than I already have?”
“I already told you.” His voice is calm and steady. “Having me by your side is the best advantage you can get.”
“You certainly don’t have confidence issues,” I mutter.
“I don’t.” His gaze holds mine. “But I also have confidence in you.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip.
“Fine,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand instead of how simply looking at Logan causes heat to rise in my body that’s far from appropriate for our current situation. “Define ‘genuinely weaken.’”
“Dizzy. Light-headed. The kind of blood loss that makes you vulnerable.” Worry flickers across his eyes, but he moves to the second bowl, continuing before I can question him again.
“Béatrice Sault dealt in memory magic. You’ll sacrifice a cherished memory to black flames.
The memory won’t disappear entirely, but it’ll fade, like an old photograph you can barely make out. ”
I swallow down what I’m pretty sure is fear. No—it’s definitely fear.
“Clíodhna Rourke.” He touches the third bowl, carved with more symbols I don’t recognize. “She valued endurance. This contains Fire of the River Phlegethon. It burns souls, not flesh, and you’ll need to keep your hand submerged for a full minute to pass her test.”
“So, she wants me to submit myself to voluntary torture.” I step back, my hands shaking.
“Yes,” he confirms. “But after you make it through the full minute, the pain will disappear, and the strength you lost from the blood sacrifice will return.”
“At least there’s a bright side.” I force a smile that definitely isn’t convincing.
“You’ll be grateful for it during the final trial.
” He approaches the fourth bowl with reverence.
“Erzsébet Varga. Death magic. You’ll drink water from the River Styx, and part of you will descend to the Underworld while your body remains here.
There, you’ll have one goal—find a specific flower and bring it back here with you. ”
I stare at the bowls in silence for a few seconds, each one promising its own flavor of agony, none of it feeling completely real. “This is insane.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t even try to sugarcoat it. “But it’s also necessary.”
“How many others know about this and have access?” I ask, needing to know I’m not the only idiot willing to submit myself to torture for access to secret passages.
“Of those of us currently on the island, only two.” His expression closes off. “Myself and one other.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you that. I gave my word, and I don’t break promises. Not unless I absolutely have to.”
I want to ask more, but I know better than to push Logan when he gets like this. Plus, I respect the fact that he doesn’t break his promises.
At the same time, this means there’s a mystery person wandering the secret passages. Maybe more than just one, since Logan might not know about every person who’s gained entry over the years.
“This feels like demon worship.” I eye the bowls again. “Or a satanic ritual.”
“Jade, listen to me.” He steps closer, his tone growing with urgency. “I’ve searched every text, every archive, every whispered legend, and there’s no witch in recorded history who can do what you do.
My blood chills. “What does that mean?”
“It means the Council will want to study you. Experiment on you. Try to figure out how your magic works, and how to replicate it or destroy it.” His hands clench into fists.
“At the Hydra trial, when I saved your life, I swore to myself that I’d do everything in my power to protect you.
Like I told you, I keep my promises. So now, I need you to trust that I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. ”
Safe.
When was the last time I felt safe? Really, truly safe? Not since discovering my magic, that’s for sure. Maybe not even before then, when everything I did had to be a perfect performance to meet my parents’ impossible standards.
“Okay.” The word escapes my lips before I can think twice. “I’ll do it. But if I die, I’m haunting you forever. Every shower, every meal, and every boring proctor meeting… ghost Jade will be there making your life hell.”
“Every shower?” A real smile tugs at his lips. “That haunting sounds more like a reward than a punishment.”
Heat rushes through me, and sparks crackle at my fingertips.
“But I unfortunately won’t be able to enjoy your hauntings in my shower,” he continues, his tone turning business-like again, “because we’re going to keep you alive.”
“Right. Good plan.” I nod quickly, forcing my eyes away from Logan and focusing on the first bowl. “What do I do?”
“Did you bring your weapon?”
“Right here.” I remove my dagger from where it’s sheathed at my side. Even though it’s simpler than the weapons the others were given, I love it. It’s like it was always meant to be mine.
Logan nods in approval. “The cut needs to be deep enough to bleed freely, but not so deep that you lose too much blood and pass out.”
“Where?” I study the blade, my heart pounding at the idea of using it to hurt myself.
“Across the palm. Clean and quick. The magic will know when you’ve given enough.”
Not wanting to overthink it or give myself time to chicken out, I position the blade against my palm, take a breath that does nothing to calm my racing heart, and slice.
The pain is sharp and immediate. Blood wells up faster than I expected, and I hold my hand over the bowl, watching the drops fall into the clear water below.
“That’s it. Just let it flow,” Logan murmurs, although his voice sounds surprisingly strained. “And don’t let it heal. Not yet. Tell your body to keep it open.”
It’s harder than it sounds, since my body wants to heal. But with Logan’s guidance, I connect with my magic in a way that communicates with it that it’s too soon to heal the cut. And while the healing still starts—I can’t stop it completely—I manage to slow it down enough to keep the blood flowing.
When I glance back up, I see that Logan’s whole body has gone rigid. The muscles in his jaw are working like he’s grinding his teeth, and his hands...
He’s gripping the edge of the altar so hard that the stone cracks under his fingers.
“Logan?”
“Keep going.” The words come out rough, his eyes fixed on my bleeding palm. “Don’t stop.”
He’s watching me as if he’s experiencing the pain right along with me. No—not right along with me. It’s like he’s experiencing it more than me. A shudder runs through him, and his breathing slows, as if he’s doing everything he can to center himself.
Concern ripples through me. “Are you—”
“Enough.” His hand wraps around my wrist and pulls it away from the bowl, chunks of stone crumbling from the altar where he was holding it.
Warmth spreads through my palm as the cut seals itself, and I can feel the relief in my body that I’ve stopped fighting its natural inclination to stay alive.
“First trial complete,” Logan says, but he’s tenser than before, still not looking at me. His face is pale, and he wipes a bead of sweat from the side of his forehead, even though it’s not hot in here.
“Hey.” I touch his arm with my clean hand, relieved when he doesn’t pull away. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to—“
“I’m fine.” He steps back, finally meeting my eyes. “It was just hard seeing you bleed like that. That’s all.”
My stomach flips from the intense way he’s watching me.
Because yes, he clearly cares about me. But this was something else entirely.
And while I suspect there was more to it than that, I know that’s all he’s going to give me for now.
There’s no point in pushing, especially since I have three more trials to complete and am lightheaded from the blood loss.
“I’m okay.” I hold out my hand to give him a better look. “See? All healed.”
“We’re going to have to work on training your body to heal slower,” he muses, examining my hand.
My breaths come faster from his touch, every line he traces burning like fire across my skin. Neither of us speaks for a few seconds, but then he drops my hand, and it’s like none of that happened at all.
“Witches heal fast,” he adds, his gaze moving up to meet mine, “but not that fast.”
I blink a few times to focus myself. “So, we train so I can stay alive, but we also teach me how to stop my body from trying to keep me alive?”
“Like I said, witches don’t heal that fast.” His voice drops, so serious that I still.
“If your rapid healing draws suspicion and word gets to the Council, it won’t be long until they get their hands on you.
If they get their hands on you, then you might wish you were dead.
So yes, teaching you how to slow your healing is, in fact, part of keeping you alive. ”
A shiver rolls through me at the way he talks about the Council, just like it does every time. Because these are the people who are supposed to protect witches. The ones the school teaches us to trust and follow.
Too bad I’m not the sort of witch they want to protect. Assuming I’m a witch at all.
“Thank you, Logan,” I tell him. “For your help. For everything.”
He startles, as if he wasn’t expecting that. “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice like silk as he turns his focus back to the bowls. “Now—one down, three to go.”