Chapter 21 Lindsay
TWENTY-ONE
LINDSAY
Forbidden Magic doesn’t look like any other classroom in the academy.
It looks like a ritual site that reluctantly agreed to host desks.
The chamber curves downward in a half-circle, tiered seating carved directly into black stone.
Each row is etched with thin silver runes—containment sigils layered over protection glyphs.
Not decorative. Functional. They hum faintly as students settle in, as if they’re testing us. Measuring volatility.
The ceiling arches high overhead, ribbed like the inside of a cathedral, the same as the outer hall. Instead of chandeliers, floating orbs of pale violet light drift lazily above us, dim enough to keep everything intimate and bright enough that no one can hide entirely in shadow.
Unfortunate for me. Because mine don’t hide anymore.
They trail behind me as I move down the steps, subtle wisps curling at my ankles like smoke, unsure whether it should rise or sink. I choose a seat halfway down. Not the front or the back.
Mistress Alira Cellan stands at the center of the chamber.
She is draped in dark silk that clings and shifts when she moves, cut perfectly within academy regulations but somehow pushing the edge of them anyway. Her dark hair spills over one shoulder in a sleek wave. Her lips curve in something that isn’t quite a smile.
Her eyes land on me. And hold.
“Miss Blake,” she says smoothly, her voice low and resonant enough to vibrate faintly in my chest. “How delightful that you’ve re-joined us at the academy.”
The word delightful sounds dangerous in her mouth.
“I’ve missed structured chaos,” I reply evenly.
A few students glance between us. Her gaze dips—not at my clothes, not at my posture—at my feet. At the faint ripple of darkness coiling there.
“Mm,” she hums. “I can see that.”
The doors at the back of the chamber open again. The shift of the air is subtle, but I know who it is without looking.
I glance back anyway as Auron steps inside. His platinum hair catches in the light, and his robe flows around his feet, while his expression is neutral and controlled. He doesn’t look at me immediately. He descends the steps slowly, then he chooses the seat directly beside mine.
Not a row back or across the aisle, beside. Close enough that our arms could brush if either of us moved. My shadows react instantly, bristling around me. Not violently, more like a cat arching its back before it hisses. The silver runes carved into the stone beneath us flicker in response.
Mistress Cellan’s gaze sharpens on us. “Look at that power. When I talk about Forbidden Magic, you just may be carrying some with you.”
The room quiets further as students look between me and the professor. And here I thought I had escaped the whispers of other students by coming back with power. But apparently, I didn’t, because I can hear a few whispers from girls across the room.
“Relax,” Auron murmurs, low enough only I can hear. “Or your darkness will try to murder more innocent students.”
The audacity.
“You’ll be first,” I shot back, even knowing he would just absorb it. “And I am relaxed.”
The shadows at my ankles flick once as though they are calling me a liar. Mistress Cellan moves slowly across the front of the classroom.
“Forbidden Magic,” she begins, voice carrying without effort, “is not about destruction or fear.”
She gestures lazily, and a ribbon of shadow peels up from the stone near her hand and coils in the air.
“It’s about control.”
Her eyes slide to me again.
“To understand power that resists obedience.” There is no way she could know about last night, yet it feels as though she is talking straight to me.
The ribbon of darkness snaps outward suddenly—sharp and fast. A collective inhale ripples through the room, but it doesn’t hit anyone. It stops midair, suspended as if held there.
“Power is not good or evil,” she continues smoothly. “Power and, in turn, Magic is reactive. It is the user who is good or evil.”
Her gaze lowers deliberately to the shadows pooling at my boots. “However, sometimes…the magic isn’t yours at all.”
My jaw tightens, and the darkness inside me stirs. Not because she’s openly accusing me of having magic that isn’t my own, but because I think she’s correct.
The side door near the front of the chamber opens quietly, and Kael steps in. The sight of him takes my breath away. He is handsome in that dangerous and dark way that I seem to be attracted to. Even with the residual anger at him, I can’t deny that.
He doesn’t make any sort of announcement when he arrives, just stands near the door, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze finds me immediately, and heat flickers through my chest.
Then Mistress Cellan smiles at him. “Ah,” she purrs. “Kael join us.”
Kael inclines his head politely. “Mistress Cellan.”
Her eyes drag over him in a way that is absolutely intentional. “We are discussing control,” she says. “A subject I believe you have…extensive experience with.”
A few students shift uncomfortably. Kael doesn’t, he just keeps a pleasant smile on his face. “I assist where needed.”
Her lips curve. “I’m certain you do.”
The darkness inside me spikes. Jealousy isn’t something I expected to feel right now. I’m still slightly angry at him. But something ancient and possessive rises anyway. Mine. That thought is sharp and uninvited as it slices through me. A low rumble that could be a growl comes from me.
My shadows curl and swell, and I know they are going to attempt to cut Mistress Cellan’s flirting off. Auron’s arm brushes mine lightly, and I can feel the darkness start to dissipate.
“Careful,” he murmurs, and I’m not completely sure if he means my shadows or my temper.
Mistress Cellan steps closer to Kael, and my fingers grip the arms of my chair.
“You always were the star student when you attended my classes.”
Kael’s expression doesn’t change.
“Thank you for coming today, to demonstrate what control looks like.” Mistress Cellan turns slowly back to the class. “Control. That’s the lesson we will learn today.”
Her hand gestures toward me. Every eye in the room shifts to me, and the shadows ripple at my feet.
“And Miss Blake has graciously provided us with the perfect example. Some magic,” Mistress Cellan continues, “does not respond to traditional discipline. It resists suppression. It reacts to emotion.”
Her gaze flicks between me and Kael.
“Anger. Attachment. Jealousy.” She trails her fingers along Kael’s arm, and heat crawls up my spine.
My shadows rise half and inch from the floor before I force them back down.
Auron’s voice is barely audible beside me. “She’s provoking you.”
“I noticed.”
As though she can hear us, her smile widens faintly. “Today, we begin with learning how to keep what rises…from consuming what you care about.”
My shadows curl tighter around my ankles. Kael’s gaze hasn’t left me, and the jealousy simmering under my skin feels dangerously close to something the Veil would love to feed on. Class has barely started, and I already want to set something on fire or snuff out life with my shadows.
“Miss Blake, can you come up here?”
The room goes very, very quiet. Nobody likes to be called on. I rise slowly. The silver containment runes beneath my boots flicker as I step down and into the center of the chamber. Every eye tracks me; I can feel their curiosity like electricity crawling over my skin.
She circles me once. “Class,” she says, “what you are about to witness is an unstable convergence of power.”
My jaw tightens. I’ll show her how unstable I actually am.
“Miss Blake has recently returned from direct Veil exposure. That is something that has never happened in the history of me being here. And she carries enhanced magic.” A pause. “And something else.”
A murmur ripples through the tiered seats, and my shadows respond immediately. They rise, not quite violently, yet. Thin tendrils spiral upward from my boots, coiling around my calves like living ink. She smiles.
“Observe how quickly emotion influences manifestation.” She turns toward me. “Tell me, Miss Blake. What are you feeling?”
She moves closer to Kael, and I’m positive I’m going to break a tooth from how hard I’m grinding them together. The question sounds harmless, but I know it isn’t. Jealousy simmers in my chest, and it only grows as she reaches out to touch him.
“Annoyed,” I say evenly.
“Only annoyed?” She tilts her head as her magic reaches out and brushes mine.
“Irritated,” I correct.
She runs her fingers over Kael’s wing, and I barely hold in the snarl that wants to break free. “And when I touch Kael?”
Heat spikes through my blood, and the shadows react before I can stop them.
They flare outward—thin black ribbons snapping toward her.
Hungry, that’s what they are, the same feeling as last night…
only this time I don’t want to stop them.
Gasps echo through the chamber, and vaguely, I realize some students are fleeing.
She throws up a magical barrier, sealing the door, at the same time she encases herself in another one to protect herself.
“Fascinating,” Mistress Cellan murmurs, entirely too pleased.
“You see, attachment produces volatility. That’s what you all must understand.
Forbidden magic is not evil—” She shrugs and steps away from Kael. “And neither is jealousy.”
The magic inside of me explodes. Jagged arcs fly upward, striking the air like whips. The violet orbs above flicker and dim. The runes around the room flare brightly. The chamber temperature drops at least ten degrees.
My breath catches, and I try to pull them back. They don’t listen. They’re hungry, and if they are not going to get Mistress Cellan, they will settle for one of the students. Doesn’t she see what’s happening? I don’t think she does, because she doesn’t look afraid.
Kael tries to step toward me, but she holds him back.
I’m coming undone. I can feel it. A slow twisting inside of me, a rising need to destroy.
“This,” she says calmly over the rising hum, “is what happens when emotion outruns discipline.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear her words.
“Stop,” I hiss under my breath. I don’t know if I’m telling her or the shadows.
The shadows lash higher. A student in the second row yelps when one snaps across their desk. Another girl shrieks as one tendril wraps around her ankle and drags her to the front of the room.
Kael shakes Mistress Cellan off and takes one step forward, but Auron is there first. He reaches out and grips my arm, and the shadows angrily whip toward him instinctively, and then—they hesitate.
“Lindsay, look at me,” he says, and my eyes snap to his. “Give me the darkness.”
That’s all it takes before they are pouring into him. Like smoke being pulled into his lungs with each breath. They funnel toward him in twisting streams, disappearing against his skin. The entire chamber watches as darkness bleeds off of me and into him.
The pressure in my chest eases. My knees almost buckle, and he tightens his grip just enough to steady me. The last tendril slips from my fingers and vanishes into him.
Silence falls again. Auron releases my wrist slowly. He looks exactly the same, infuriatingly composed. Only his eyes have darkened slightly—deep shadows pooling in their silver-blue depths.
Mistress Cellan studies us both with open interest now. “Well,” she says softly. “I guess it’s a good thing Mr. Draven transferred to my class. Everyone, that is Bloodborn containment at its finest.”
The class is frozen. Not a single person moves or even breathes. Her gaze drifts between us. “One unleashes, and the other absorbs.”
My hands tremble slightly at my sides. I hate that he had to step in again. But I really hate that part of the Veil inside me feels…calmer because he’s here. I swallow hard.
Mistress Cellan claps her hands once. “Take your seats. Perfect demonstration. Kael, you are dismissed.”
The hum in the chamber slowly returns to normal.
I walk back up the tiered steps on unsteady legs, Auron at my back.
Every student tracks us as though we are a bomb or a miracle.
When I turn around, Kael’s expression is unreadable as he stands unmoved where he had been.
The teacher nods to the side door, indicating silently that he should go.
Auron settles into his seat beside mine without looking at me. But I can feel our connection, the Veil is inside him now. Class resumes. But no one in this room will look at me the same way again, and now—they’ll never look at him the same way either.