2. Briar
brIAR
T he dress waits for me.
Spread across the center of my bed, the deep crimson silk ripples faintly in the light as I approach.
The fitted bodice is stitched with a beautiful black lace that looks like the wings of a butterfly, so delicate I don’t know how anyone managed it.
The skirt spills in a cascade meant to trail behind me.
It’s beautiful. Regal. Exactly what the princess of Sanguis is expected to wear for her placement ceremony.
Beside it lies the black satchel I brought with me from the bathroom. The faint scent of lavender soap still clings to the leather from its weeks spent tucked away there.
Two futures, side by side.
Silk and lace for the woman who will smile through the ceremony, thank each person for their polite offer to own her, and choose a path her parents will approve of.
A worn leather bag for the girl who teeters at the edge of her carefully built world and trusts herself to land on her feet when she jumps.
My gaze lingers on the dress longer than I’d like to admit.
Mom’s choice–she’d sent it up two days ago with a note that only said ‘ It’s nearly as beautiful as you’.
I can imagine her smile seeing me in it: my hair smoothed to gleaming waves, red painted lips, every inch the daughter she’s shaped for this moment.
I’m sure she’s been picturing it since she ordered the gown.
The satchel is a version of my future that no one but me has imagined me in, and the thought alone lifts the corners of my lips.
I cross to the bed, my fingertips grazing the cool silk before shifting to the warm leather handle. One is heavy with expectation and the other is heavy with possibility, but both have the potential to crush me.
It should be an easy decision.
It isn’t.
Mom’s words from earlier thread through my head, uninvited but stubborn: Because it’s lethal.
I heave a sigh and push aside my hopes in favor of looking at this logically for a moment.
My mom isn’t entirely wrong–I know that. Hunters may be illegal in the human realm of Ordinarius now, but laws don’t erase people’s hunger for blood. Ten years of shaky peace won’t stop a hunter from seeing my name, my blood, and my family as the ultimate trophy.
My feet begin to pace across the dark stone floors of my room, trailing the edge of my black rug as a glide. Back and forth I go.
While that could be the situation I walk into, I’m not the child my parents keep picturing to handle it.
I’ve trained with all four of them since I could hold a blade.
I’ve fought against sparring partners who outweighed me by three times, held my ground against Dad’s relentless drills, and passed Papa’s political scenario exams that most cadets twice my age failed.
I’m not na?ve enough to think that makes me untouchable, but I’m not walking into that world without any sense of how to handle conflict, be it mentally or physically.
I will never be empty-handed…quite literally.
My pacing comes to a halt as I lift my palms up. Black blades solidify, twin daggers materializing with a hum that’s more felt than heard. The black hilts nestle against my palms as the red runes I’ve yet to decipher on the blades catch the low light.
Lyra and Kael, my soul weapons and my lineage to the Van Helsing slayers in physical form.
Lyra rests cool and steady in my left hand, her weight perfectly balanced. “ Breathe,” her soft voice murmurs in my mind, smooth and patient. “ Rushing into a life-altering decision will get you nowhere good.”
Kael, in my right hand, thrums with a restless energy that prickles against my skin. “ Or,” he cuts in, his tone wicked and eager, “ we stop thinking in circles and start acting. Go slip through that portal before anyone catches you dithering.”
“She’s thinking,” Lyra counters without heat, as though my hesitation is exactly where I need to be.
“No, she’s just stalling because she lacks confidence to take what she wants,” Kael fires back, and the hum in my grip grows sharper, almost electric.
A wry smile tugs at my lips despite the stress of this decision. They’ve been at this back-and-forth banter since the day I claimed them. They’re my angel and devil, though up until now, Lyra is who I tend to side with.
“I may be stalling slightly,” I mutter under my breath, letting the weight of them anchor me. I won’t be alone even if I go…they’ll always be with me. “I just don’t want to have any regrets.”
Lyra hums with approval while Kael groans like I’ve just ruined his favorite game.
“ You’ll never regret taking a risk that puts you on the path to enjoying your life ,” he counters. “ Sure, there may be minor inconveniences, but that’s what you want. You want to see the messy sides of the world, right? ”
Lyra’s voice is drier than I’ve ever heard it in response. “ I wouldn’t consider the potential of death by the hunters’ hands a minor inconvenience .”
They’re both right. I’m not invincible, but some things are worth risking.
I let their voices pull me in opposite directions until the tension in my chest builds. With a slow exhale, I will them back into the ether. Thankfully they can’t talk to me at all times–unlike my mom’s soul sword–or else I’d go insane.
My gaze drops to the portal ring on my finger. The metal is cool, but it carries a weight that’s heavier than its slim size–a promise, an escape, a single breath’s decision between here and there.
I know what I want to do, but I can still feel the way my mom’s tearful gaze pinned me in place when she said, “I’d rather you resent me than force me to attend the funeral of my child.”
My heart is heavy in my chest as I glance back at the bed. For a brief moment my hand lifts toward the gown, ready to shove myself back into the mold I’ve slowly grown out of. But panic sets in instantly, causing me to yank my hand back.
I can’t do it any longer. I can’t be Briar Van Helsing, the princess.
“I just want to figure out who I am,” I mutter, my eyes stinging with the heat of oncoming tears.
Quickly I brush them away and straighten my spine. I’ve shed too many tears and spent too many nights lying awake, agonizing over this decision.
I’ve done my research and I know the risks.
For once, the human government and the magical world are trying–publicly, at least–to keep a fragile peace.
The dorms are practically built into the college campus, which would discourage any hunters from trying to take me in a public setting.
All I have to do is stay on campus and keep my wits about me.
Maybe it’s na?ve to believe in that kind of progress. Or maybe my parents can’t believe in it because they carry old wounds from a world they bled to survive.
Either way, if danger still waits in the alleys and behind the smiles of humans, I’ll have the portal ring to escape. I’ll be back in this suffocating safety before anyone can even miss me.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my satchel and the decision is no longer a question.
I sling the bag over my shoulder, the strap biting into my collarbone, and cross the room to my mini-fridge before I can talk myself into one more minute of hesitation. I toss as many blood bags into my bag as I can fit before zipping it shut.
The hallway outside my chambers is hushed, the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath. My steps sink into the thick crimson runner, each one carrying me past family photos.
First is one with Papa, frozen in the sharp black and gold of his headmaster’s uniform, his hazel eyes softened by the kind of pride that could level me if I let it.
Beside him, Father stands in regal black, the silver clasp of his cloak gleaming at his throat, one hand resting on the back of the throne Mom sits in.
His dark gaze has the same steady weight as it does in person, the kind that makes others bow their heads.
Not many are allowed to see the twinkle of mischief and love he hides in their depths.
Dad stands on the other side of the throne, the most contagious smile on his face beaming at me.
It causes my lips to twitch as I imagine his excitable energy making everyone else laugh when they needed to stay still.
My feet carry me to the end of the wall where the family portrait hangs. My hair catching the light, my lips curved into the practiced smile I mastered, and my parents’ hands resting on my shoulders like anchors. The four of them look at me as if I’m the best thing they’ve ever done.
That’s a heavy feeling, considering all they’ve accomplished and fought for. Yet I have always been their shining light.
The air in my lungs turns heavy.
I reach out without thinking, fingertips brushing the dried paint. My throat tightens, a sharp ache lodging there. I can picture their faces when they realize I’m gone. The confusion, the fear, and the questions they’ll hurl at themselves before they ever blame me.
It will gut them.
The guilt snakes through my chest, hot and relentless. Part of me wants to drop the satchel here, to let the weight of their love pull me back.
But that’s the trap, isn’t it? Living for them means dying for me.
I let my hand fall back to my side, curling it tight until my nails press half-moons into my palm. Their love doesn’t erase the way this place has closed in around me, the way my dreams have withered in the shade of their protection.
I take another step, and then another, forcing my gaze forward until the paintings are behind me.
I can love them and still choose myself.
I hurry down staircases until I reach the glass doors leading to the courtyard and pause, my hand hovering over the handle as I glance over my shoulder.
The hallway stretches empty and golden, lit by warm sconces that have watched over me my entire life.
My gaze catches on the curve of the staircase I used to race down as a child, with my parents taking turns catching me at the bottom.
Then there’s the stretch of floor worn smooth where Mom paced every day waiting for me to return from my day at the academy.
For a moment, the weight of all those memories presses down, thick as the humid air in the bathroom earlier. If I walk out now, I will undoubtedly hurt them. I will make them worry in ways I could never imagine.
I press my palm to the glass, letting the cold bite of it tether me. One last breath, the scent of petrichor lingering in the castle’s stone walls washing through my lungs, before I turn the handle. The door gives way with a muted click, the night air spilling over me in a cool, steady rush.
I don’t let myself look back again, because If I do, I know what little confidence I’m clinging to will fade.
The courtyard lies silent beneath the weight of the rising moon, its silver light spilling across the dew clinging to the grass beyond. In the distance below our castle, the city of Sanguis pulses with street lights flickering on and the glow from inside buildings opening for the night life.
It’s all I’ve ever known, and now as I say goodbye to it, nostalgia builds within me.
“Thanks for the memories, Sanguis.”
The ring is already warm against my skin, what feels almost like a sentient awareness pulsing beneath its surface as if it has anticipated this moment as much as I have.
I shift the satchel higher on my shoulder as I step to the center of the courtyard, where it’s the most spacious.
Aunt Deva’s words echo in my mind about “needing enough room to let the magic breathe properly.”
I fix my mind on the place I’ve studied for years in pictures: New York City at night, a street just beyond the art school’s entrance.
I summon the image in sharp detail with the jagged rise of its buildings, the burning glow of neon signs against the dark night, and crowds of movement in a city that is said to never fully sleep.
The power stirs, a faint ripple beneath my skin that grows warmer and heavier until it blooms in my palm.
The red stone set in the center of the ring glows, first with a quiet pulse, then with a sudden flare that sends thin rivers of crimson light coursing through the air.
The space before me seems to bend as the temperature drops, brushing over my arms with a cold sharp enough to raise goosebumps in its wake.
The distortion widens, twisting itself into a vortex edged with red. At the center, the color clears, revealing a window to another place entirely. Lit with bright city lights, my future waits.
My pulse thrums in time with the hum of the portal, a steady drumbeat that fills my ears until it’s all I can hear.
I step closer, the magic curling along my skin in restless currents, each one urging me forward.
The scents of lavender and cherry blossom still cling faintly to my clothes, ghosts of the home I’m leaving behind.
I hesitate just long enough to let the ache swell in my chest, thinking of the faces I don’t know when I’ll see again.
I whisper a single apology into the cool night air, “Forgive me. I need to do this.”
And then, with the weight of every choice that led me here pressing down on my shoulders, I step through.