Chapter 5
FIVE
LINDSAY
By the time I finally make it back to the dorm, the sky outside the high windows is a deep indigo, stars faint behind thin clouds.
My head is pounding. My legs ache. My skin still hums with the aftershocks of too much magic and too many stares.
I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and collapse backward onto the thin mattress, letting out a deep breath. For a minute—just one—I think I might actually get to rest. I stare at the cracked ceiling, breath slowing.
Maybe tomorrow will be easier. Maybe the whispers will fade. Maybe—the door creaks open.
I tilt my head just as Tamsin saunters in, tossing her cloak onto her bed. Her eyes are bright. Too bright.
“Oh no,” I groan. “Whatever that look is, the answer is no.”
She grins wickedly. “You haven’t even heard the question.”
“I’ve had enough for one day,” I mutter. “I was planning to not die. Maybe sleep.”
Tamsin plops onto the edge of my bed, kicking one boot off. “Cute plan. Except if you skip tonight, you’ll regret it.”
I sigh. “Why?”
She leans in. “First night tradition. Everyone goes to the Undercourt. The Houses notice who doesn’t.”
I frown. “Undercourt?”
She winks. “Underground duels. Off the books. Don’t worry, you’re not fighting. You watch. Learn. Show face. See who's dangerous.”
Undercourt. Of course there’s a magical fight club that sounds like it belongs in a fantasy fairy world. Sure. Totally normal.
I push upright, wariness flickering. “And if I don’t?”
Her grin turns mischievous. “Makes you a target.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Great.”
Tamsin hops to her feet. “Come on. Meet me by the North Tower in fifteen. Wear something dark. And be stealthy. I’d tell you to use a cloaking spell, but I’m sure you don’t know any, and they are too complex to teach right now. That’s a task for another night.”
I groan again but sit up anyway. I better get dressed. Because if surviving Blackthorn means knowing when to say no, I highly doubt tonight’s the time. I tug on dark jeans, a fitted black shirt, and the plain brown cloak they gave me. It’s not exactly stealth wear, but it’ll have to do.
Hood up. My hair tucked in.
I ease out of the dorm and into the night.
The courtyard is mostly empty, but not silent.
Distant voices echo from open windows. The occasional flicker of spell light dances behind drawn curtains.
I keep to the edges, steps light, breath tight.
Halfway across campus, a pair of students rounds the far corner, laughing.
I press flat against the nearest pillar, heart hammering, and wait until they pass.
The North Tower looms ahead. I’m almost there when a new sound prickles my nerves—measured footsteps, heavier. Authority in every step.
A Professor.
Shit.
I flatten deeper into the shadows of a stone archway, barely daring to breathe. My fingers twitch—not with power, just nerves burning beneath my skin. A cloaked figure passes not ten feet from me, cloak rustling faintly. I stay frozen until the steps fade down the hall.
Then I move. Quick and quiet. Tamsin’s already waiting at the base of the tower, hood drawn low. Her grin flashes when she spots me.
“Not bad,” she murmurs. “Didn’t peg you for stealthy.”
“Neither did I,” I breathe.
She motions for me to follow, leading me around the side of the tower. Past the old stone benches, past a crumbling fountain choked with ivy. We stop in front of what looks like nothing but overgrown shrubs. Tamsin smirks, pushes a branch aside, and traces a sigil into the air with two fingers.
The glamoured doorway shimmers into view—an arched opening leading to a narrow stone stairwell winding down into darkness.
Of course. Secret magical staircase in the shrubbery. Totally normal.
“After you,” she says, eyes sparkling with excitement.
I swallow hard but step through. The air shifts; it’s colder and heavier.
Stone walls close in around us as we descend.
The sound of distant voices rises with every step.
At the bottom, the tunnel widens into a vast underground chamber.
The floor is rough stone, cracked and worn.
Torches line the walls, flames flickering an eerie blue.
The air smells of smoke, sweat, and something sharp and electric. Magic, maybe.
A circular pit dominates the center, ringed by jagged rune-carved pillars. Students cluster in loose groups. House cloaks are gone, swapped for dark streetwear. The mood is electric. Tense.
Spells flicker. Wards hum.
And in the pit, two duelists circle each other, magic snapping between them like lightning in a bottle.
Tamsin leans in. “Welcome to the Undercourt.”
The Undercourt thrums with energy. It’s not orderly like the academy above. Here, the Houses blend, but not in any friendly way.
Blood House students lounge near the pillars, draped in expensive leathers and velvet-trimmed cloaks, eyes glittering like knives.
Bone witches cluster in tight circles, whispering under their breath, pale runes flickering across their skin.
Fang shifters slouch on the stone steps, sharp-eyed, restless, a little too eager when the magic flares in the pit.
Veil fae mages drift along the edges, faces shadowed, cloaks darker than the space should allow.
And scattered among them—other students I can’t place. Most keeping to the walls.
Tamsin steers us through with practiced ease.
“Stick close,” she murmurs. “Wrong look here can get you hexed before you blink.”
I nod, heart kicking harder.
Then I see him. Auron. Leaning against one of the rune pillars with two Bloods flanking him. Laughing at something low. His gaze sweeps the crowd—then lands on me. The sneer he throws my way is pure poison. Tamsin catches it too. Her fingers brush my arm, subtle but steady.
“Come on,” she says quietly. “Other side’s better.”
She angles us away, weaving through the shifting crowd. We pass a pair of Bone students arguing over a duel bet, a Veil mage weaving something dark and slow between her fingers. The further side of the chamber isn’t exactly safe, but less Blood-heavy.
Tamsin claims a narrow gap between two broken columns and pulls me in.
“Here,” she says. “Good sightline. Easier to slip out if shit goes sideways.”
I nod, pulse still racing. In the pit, the duel explodes; one fighter slamming a blast of raw energy across the ring. The crowd roars.
She grins, eyes bright. “This,” she says, “is where you learn who really matters.”
The duel is brutal, and Tamsin is completely locked on it.
She leans forward, elbows braced on the stone, eyes tracking every move in the pit. "Watch her," she says under her breath. "Veil mage’s got ridiculous control—see the turn?"
I nod, pretending like I’m absorbing the strategy. But my attention keeps drifting.
At first, I chalk it up to the crowd. The buzz, the shouting, the sheer weight of magic in the air. It’s louder than anything I’ve felt all day. Rougher. Unfiltered. But the longer I stand there, the more I notice something else.
The energy is changing. Not in the pit. In the crowd.
Voices drop. Conversations falter mid-word. Glances sharpen, heads turn and not toward the fight, but toward the edges of the room.
A strange pressure builds behind my ribs. Subtle at first, but growing with each breath. I shift my stance, trying to shake it off. Maybe it’s just the ambient magic. Maybe it’s just me.
But the feeling creeps deeper. The air feels thicker, heavier. Like the space is holding its breath.
Tamsin doesn’t seem to notice. She’s leaning closer to the ring now, grinning as another spell arcs through the air. "She’s going to end this."
I try to focus. I really do. But every instinct in me is screaming that something is off.
I glance around.
The Blood students, normally all smug smirks and superiority complexes, are stiff-backed and silent, like someone hit pause on their arrogance. Even the Fang shifters are tensing, heads tilted toward the darker edges of the chamber.
That’s when I notice the changes.
It’s not dramatic. No growling transformation montage. No bones snapping or bodies morphing. Just...subtle shifts that feel all wrong.
Ears—longer, furred, and twitching. Eyes catching the torchlight in inhuman golds and silvers. One guy’s smirk shows teeth that are just a little too sharp. Another’s tail—tail—lashes behind him, slow and agitated.
Still mostly human.
Mostly.
But my brain refuses to file them under anything normal. And apparently no one else finds this weird.
I keep my face blank, but inside?
What the actual hell?
I came here expecting Hogwarts. Maybe a talking painting. A wand. Some dumb Latin spells. Not half-shifted predators lurking around a magical fight pit like it’s just another Friday night.
What kind of school is this?
Deep beneath it all, there’s a hum building in my chest—low, unfamiliar, but impossible to ignore.
I curl my fingers against the stone, forcing a steady breath. Whatever this is, it’s not in the fight. It’s in the room. It’s in me. And it’s getting stronger.
The hum inside me strengthens. No longer subtle. It coils low in my gut, an electric pulse beneath my skin. I shift again, trying to steady my breath, but the weight pressing down doesn’t ease.
Across the pit, students are starting to notice. Conversations stall entirely now. More heads turn; not toward the duel, but toward the outer edges of the chamber.
That’s when I feel it. Not just the pressure or the hum. A pull. Something in the shadows, beyond the torches. Moving.
The air gets colder. The rune pillars flicker, wards dimming for half a second. A ripple moves through the crowd, a nervous shuffle of bodies pressing tighter together.
Tamsin finally glances back, brows pulling together. “Something’s wrong,” she says under her breath.
I can’t answer. The hum inside me is stronger now, like my pulse is syncing with it. Shapes move beyond the circle of light. Low, sinuous, too fluid to be human.
One. Then another. Then more.