Chapter 20 Lindsay #2
“Yes.”
Nolan adjusts his glasses. “He was sort of nice…”
“That’s most definitely worse,” Tamsin says brightly as she takes a bite of her waffles.
I slide off of Raiden’s lap, smoothing my skirt down, pretending I didn’t just feel my pulse trip over itself because a platinum-haired warlock called me by my first name.
“How does he think he can help you?” Raiden asks.
“He stopped her from murdering Mira last night,” Tamsin says, and my eyes drop shut. We need to work on her filter.
“Excuse me?” Nolan sputters at the same time Raiden says, “What?”
“Oh…sorry…” Tamsin says, sinking lower in her chair as she realizes what she’s said.
I clear my throat and drop into the empty seat next to Tamsin. “I was going to tell you guys.”
“Tell us what?” Raiden asks.
“The Veil might not have killed me, but I think I brought more than my stronger magic back with me…and it lashed out at Mira. It was hungry and violent. I couldn’t stop it. Auron showed up, and he did.”
“Auron did—?” Nolan trails off.
“He stopped me. Or really…I tried to murder him instead, and he absorbed the veil magic.”
“Wow.” Raiden glances after him. “I’ve never heard of that being possible before.”
Nolan pushes his glasses up. “Actually, there are stories of Bloodborns containing the Veil, and some of the illustrations look like they are drawing it into themselves. But it never ends well for them. They become basically unstable and probably get locked away in some tower where they can’t hurt anyone. ”
My heart thuds painfully inside my chest. Does Auron know that? Did he step into that knowing what it could cost him?
Raiden’s jaw tightens. “Locked away?”
Nolan nods reluctantly. “It’s rare. Most Bloodborn families don’t talk about it openly. The ones who try to contain Veil current long-term start… fracturing. Paranoia. Power spikes. Emotional instability.”
Tamsin slowly lowers her fork.
“Great,” she mutters. “So our Platinum Popsicle might be playing magical self-sacrifice.”
I don’t like the way that sounds at all.
“He didn’t look unstable,” Raiden says.
“No,” I murmur. He looked controlled.
Nolan’s gaze softens slightly. “It doesn’t happen immediately. It’s cumulative.”
Cumulative. Like every time my magic lashes out, it won’t just cost me. It will cost him too. I stand abruptly.
“I’m not his responsibility,” I say.
No one argues. But none of them agree either.
Tamsin pushes her plate aside. “Well. Good news. First day back at school and we’ve already unlocked: Veil parasite and possible Bloodborn implosion.”
“Comforting,” I mutter. I tuck an apple into my bag for later and stand up, my appetite long gone.
Raiden rises with me automatically. “He could be transferring into your class because of what happened.”
That thought had crossed my mind. It’s something he would do or his dad would make sure happened. “I know.”
Nolan stands, too, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “I can walk you to class.”
Tamsin scrambles out of her seat and trails after us. “We can all walk you to class.”
I laugh while shooting a look over my shoulder. “An entourage. I’m sure that will leave a good impression on the professor.”
“You mean, Mistress Alira Cellan. She is dark and scary and sorta hot,” Tamsin says.
“Well, that settles it, I’ll take myself to class. I’ll see you three later.” I give a quick kiss to Raiden and then Nolan and leave them before they can protest.
The kiss lingers on my lips as I turn away from them.
Three sets of eyes track me until I disappear down the stone corridor, and I can still feel the weight of their worry pressing against my back. I don’t look over my shoulder again.
If I do, I might go back.
The hallway shifts as I near the lower wing of the academy. The polished marble and bright arched windows give way to older stone—rougher, darker. The temperature drops gradually, subtle but undeniable. The kind of cold that seeps through fabric and settles against your bones.
The stairs to Forbidden Magic spiral downward in a narrow tower cut straight into the foundation of the academy.
Each step is worn slightly concave in the center, centuries of boots carving history into stone. Iron sconces line the walls, but instead of flames, they hold hovering orbs of dim violet light. The glow flickers faintly, like it’s reacting to the magic in the air.
Or to me.
The deeper I descend, the quieter it becomes.
No chatter from passing students. No echo of distant laughter. Just the soft rhythm of my own steps and the faint hum of old magic beneath everything.
It smells different, too. Not musty. Older. Like parchment sealed in vaults or candle smoke that clings to the stone.
The staircase curves again, tighter now, until the ceiling lowers and the walls narrow enough that my shoulders almost brush both sides if I stretch. Castle basement is too soft a phrase for this.
This feels like a place built to hold things. To contain things. The Veil inside me shifts uneasily, ready to force me to flee back up the stairs in a heartbeat or attack whatever is waiting for me.
At the bottom of the stairwell, the corridor opens into a vaulted chamber carved directly from black stone.
The ceiling arches high overhead, ribbed like the inside of a cathedral—but darker, more intimate.
Wards are etched into every surface, layered in silver and deep indigo ink.
Some pulse faintly, reacting as I step forward.
A set of heavy double doors stands at the far end.
The surface looks like polished obsidian veined with silver lines that move almost imperceptibly if you stare too long.
Containment doors, the veil whispers. That’s practical if you have students learning Forbidden Magic, right?
You’d want to be able to contain stuff if they do it wrong.
Actually, why are they teaching us Forbidden Magic?
It sounds like something they probably shouldn’t teach a bunch of twenty-something year olds.
My fingers brush the cool metal of the handle, and it hums beneath my touch before swinging open with ease. For a heartbeat, I imagine the door locking behind me, sealing me inside.
I imagine what this room was originally designed for. This deep below the school, I know it wasn’t for teaching. My pulse kicks painfully against my ribcage. Still, I straighten my shoulders and step into the room.
A few students are already here in their colored robes. I didn’t put mine on today. I move better without the heavy material wrapped around me.
Forbidden Magic doesn’t smell like danger; no, it smells of possibilities—which is somehow worse.