Chapter 3
THREE
LINDSAY
The bells start at dawn. Low, deep chimes that vibrate through the stone walls of Overflow.
I groan and roll over, face buried in a pillow that smells faintly of lavender and something vaguely burnt. Tamsin’s already up. Perched cross-legged on her bed, braiding her riot of red curls with practiced speed.
“Up, human,” she calls cheerfully. “You’re not late yet. Let’s keep it that way.”
I sit up, rubbing grit from my eyes. “Do they always start this early?”
She laughs. “Welcome to Blackthorn. First day’s a gauntlet.”
Great. Just what my fried nerves need.
I drag on clothes that look like hand-me-downs—the academy wear they’d left folded on my bed last night. A soft, long shirt, leggings with pockets—yay for that at least—and a plain brown cloak. Not silver. Not crimson. Not black. Just…basic brown.
Message received.
I shove my map in my pocket, snag up the backpack they left for me with supplies, and follow Tamsin out. The halls are already packed—students streaming toward Orientation, voices echoing off stone.
Most wear rich fabrics, embroidered cuffs, House colors woven through their cloaks. Tamsin whispers what each one means as we walk. Silver for Blood. Bone-white for Bone. Deep crimson for Fang. Shadow-black for Veil.
And I’m a lone spot of brown in the flow of prestige and power. Eyes follow as I move. Some curious. Some amused. A few openly hostile.
Tamsin leans in. “Ignore them. They’ll get bored eventually.”
“Sure,” I mutter, heart hammering. “Easy for you to say. You have a silver and black robe.”
She snorts, but doesn’t reply.
The main hall opens up before us, a massive stone room.
A vaulted chamber big enough to hold an army, banners of each House hanging from the rafters. Blood. Bone. Fang. Veil. The student body gathers in a sea of white, silver, crimson, and shadow black.
Tamsin pulls me toward the edges. “Overflow sticks to the sides. Trust me.”
A raised dais spans the front. At its center, Headmaster Veyne stands flanked by House heads, I assume; tall, robed figures with eyes like polished stone.
The air shifts as he steps forward.
“Welcome,” he intones. His voice rolls through the hall without needing amplification. Magic hums beneath every word.
“You stand at the threshold of another year at Blackthorn Academy,” he continues. “A place where power is honed. Where alliances are forged. Where strength is rewarded. And where we work together to protect the Veil.”
I glance around at the other students. Nobody else seems to be surprised that we're being recruited like soldiers to protect something that sounds like it's a separation of some kind. Who are we protecting and from what? Also, is it too late to opt out?
His gaze sweeps the crowd, cold and assessing.
“For some of you, greatness is expected.” His eyes flick toward the Blood House ranks.
“For others…” a faint smile touches his mouth. “…survival will be your first test.”
A ripple of laughter from the Bloods. My gut twists. Orientation? More like public humiliation. What is this, The Hunger Games?
Headmaster Veyne lifts a hand. Sigils flare in the air, each House symbol blazing to life.
“Know your place. Earn your standing. We begin today.”
I glance down at my plain brown cloak. No crest. No House. No standing.
Loud and clear. With that, the bells chime again, three sharp strikes.
I pull out my schedule and unfold it.
Tamsin peeks over my shoulder, her eyes on my schedule, before she tugs on my arm. “Come on. Our first class starts in fifteen minutes. You’ve got Veil Theory first, I didn’t take it last year because I chose Hex Theory instead, and that happens to be my first class too.”
I nod, trying to process everything.
Around me, students are already shifting, sliding into tight-knit groups, their voices low but buzzing with energy.
Glances flick my way, some are curious, while others are definitely hostile.
The whispers follow, snaking through the air like smoke and brushing against my skin with just enough bite to ensure I notice.
Human.
Doesn’t belong.
Won’t last a week.
The words hit hard. But I square my shoulders and follow Tamsin out. One step at a time.
“Relax,” Tamsin murmurs, falling into step beside me. “First day’s chaos for everyone. Even the First Bloods fake it.”
“Not the vibe I’m getting,” I mutter, nodding toward a trio of robed students gliding past like they own the place.
Blood House. First blood witches. The real top of the food chain here. I hold in a snort.
Veil Theory is held in a vaulted lecture hall that looks more like a church than a classroom—high stained-glass windows, tiered stone seating, a dais at the front where an older warlock in a deep gray cloak waits.
The second I step inside, the magic hits me.
It’s thick in the air, almost buzzing under my skin, and really hard to ignore.
I stumble to a stop as I take it all in.
Tamsin nudges me toward a seat near the middle. “Here. Good vantage. Not too close to the Bloods.”
I nod, trying to breathe normally as the room fills. A deep bell chimes. The professor steps forward, voice resonant and clear.
“Welcome to Veil Theory. I am Magister Corvin. This course will introduce you to the nature of the Veil, the forces beyond it, and the factions that shape our world.”
A flick of his fingers, and glowing sigils spiral into the air. They shift into a massive web of light and shadow.
“Four primary factions govern the Veil-bound orders,” he continues. “Blood, Bone, Fang, and Veil.”
As he speaks, each House symbol appears—silver, bone-white, deep crimson, shadow-black.
“Blood House holds the First Blood lines. Bone masters death and resurrection. Fang binds beast and body. Veil commands the unseen—illusion, fate, and shadow.”
“More like tricks,” someone mutters a row away, “Don’t trust the Fae.”
Tamsin huffs out a half-laugh and shakes her head. While I shift in my seat, acutely aware of the empty space where a House sigil should be on my cloak, and that the brown sticks out like a sore thumb. The room hums with focused magic. Students watch raptly.
I try to focus, but the sheer overwhelming information presses in; terms I barely grasp, factions I know nothing about, centuries of politics and power. A headache blooms behind my eyes. I glance sideways and catch a Blood House student sneering openly at me. Whispering to another.
My throat tightens. Overwhelmed doesn’t begin to cover it.
But before I can bolt, Magister Corvin’s gaze lands on me, keen and thoughtful.
And for one strange beat—the magic in the air hums harder around me.
A flicker of heat against my skin. The professor’s eyes narrow, just slightly, before he looks away.
What the hell was that? Did he just use magic on me? Magically scan me? Is that a thing?
Around me, no one else reacts. No startled glances. Nothing. Just me feeling off kilter. Before I can process it, the great bell tolls. Class dismissed. Students rise in a wave of movement, cloaks swishing, conversations flaring.
I move slower, half-dazed, trying to shake the lingering cold under my skin.
“Careful, human.” The voice cuts across my path. Smooth. Mocking.
I look up and there he is.
Auron Draven.
Blocking my way out. Pale hair gleaming, silver cloak falling perfectly over broad shoulders. His eyes glitter like frost on a cold day. He could be Draco Malfoy’s colder, evilier twin.
“Didn’t think you’d last a full class,” he drawls quietly, dipping his head close. “But don’t get comfortable. This place eats things like you.”
He snaps his teeth at me like he’s going to bite me, and I hold myself still. My pulse spikes. I square my shoulders, but my mouth is too dry to answer. Auron’s gaze flicks down to my brown cloak, a smirk curling his mouth.
“No House. No blood. No worth.” He leans in just a fraction. “Run home while you still can.”
The words fill me like ice in my chest. Before I can fire back, before I can even think, a swirl of movement cuts between us.
Tamsin.
She hooks her arm through mine, eyes bright and perceptive.
“Oops,” she says sweetly to Auron. “Didn’t see you there. Guess the human’s got better company.”
She tugs me firmly toward the door before he can answer. I glance back once. Auron’s smile is thin and cold as he watches us go. Tamsin doesn’t slow until we’re clear of the Veil Theory hall and halfway down the next corridor. Only then does she release my arm, shooting me a look.
“Rule one,” she says briskly. “Avoid Auron Draven. Especially alone.”
I exhale shakily. “Yeah. Got that memo.”
“He’s worse than he looks,” she adds. “And he plays a long game.”
Wonderful. Exactly what I need.
Tamsin pulls a folded slip of parchment from her sleeve and taps it, runes glow faintly across the surface.
“Schedule check,” she chirps. “Let’s see…you’ve got Combat Casting next. Then Runic Arts after—Professor Marris teaches that one. You’ll like her.”
I fumble my own crumpled schedule out of my pocket. Sure enough, Combat Casting scrawled in jagged script I can barely read.
“Combat… what now? And how did you see my schedule on…” I gesture at her paper, “...that.”
“Oh, sorry, magic, you’ll get used to it.” Tamsin grins. “As for Combat Casting, you’ll love it. Or hate it. Either way, it’s fast-paced. And after that—Runic Arts is a nice break. Less chance of getting hexed.”
She glances at the time rune near the corner of her paper.
“Okay, I’ve got Divination across the tower.” She shoulders her bag. “But we’ll meet for lunch after, yeah? You’ll need a debrief.”
I nod, heart still racing. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Tamsin flashes me a quick grin. “You’ve got this, human.”
Then she’s gone, vanishing into the crowd with a flick of her braid.
I take a breath. Then another.