Chapter 7
Romantic attachments among students are neither prohibited nor officially encouraged. However, those who pursue them would do well to remember: at Whittaker, little remains private.
—Whittaker School of Magick Handbook for New Students, “Code of Conduct”
Back at Blue Dahlia Commons, I’m showered and dressed in jeans, a fitted top, and leather boots.
Thank the gods we get to wear our own clothes for events outside of class.
I smile as I grab Noa’s jacket to wear, slipping into its warmth as my other squadmates wait by the front door.
Rozsen and Elliot are already firing off a thousand questions about him, alternating between teasing and legitimate curiosity, barely giving me a chance to zip up.
First-, second-, and third-years stream out of their dorm rooms, the halls buzzing with conversation as everyone heads toward dinner and the famed Flaming W bonfire. A few whisper as they eye me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. A hush follows me like static when I pass.
I feel a glance or two of pure animosity from two third-year girls who come out of a first-floor room. I can just barely hear their low whispers of contempt as they eye the patches on my jacket.
I guess news travels fast…
A group of guys loiter near the stairwell, casting the occasional not-so-subtle look in our direction.
One of them breaks away, pushing off the stair rail with the kind of self-assured ease that’s definitely practiced.
His dirty-blond hair is artfully tousled—messy in the way only someone who checks every mirror can manage.
He saunters up to me, flashing a grin that probably works on most girls. “So this is the famous Celeste everyone’s buzzing about.”
“Famous is hardly the word I’d use,” I reply, matching his tone with a cool smile.
“Noa Gallegher’s old family friend?” He smirks, the insinuation hanging between us.
“Quite the pretty picture the two of you made earlier—him walking you back here with his jacket draped around your shoulders.” He lifts a hand, casually brushing two fingers over the fire and fourth-year patches on my left arm.
“Dash,” he says, offering his hand. “Third-year, Blue Squad.” A breeze curls around my wrist—gentle, coaxing—tugging me forward like the air itself is taking his side.
“Air-wielder,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought…
but the grin that follows is pure confidence.
I take his hand, more curious than impressed. There’s a flicker in his eyes when we touch—a dare maybe, and I can’t help but feel like I just became a challenge in a game I wasn’t aware I was playing.
* * *
I walk with my squadmates toward the quad, where picnic tables are piled high with food.
I grab a bag of chips and a cheeseburger stacked high with extra pickles, then fish a cold Coke from a cooler half buried in ice.
We settle in, eating together—easy conversation flowing before the crowd starts to thin around us.
Sawyer is mid-story, hands waving as he launches into an animated retelling of his summer adventures—something about diving and surf. Rozsen and Elliot interrupt constantly, chiming in with half-formed questions and bad guesses, talking over him and each other in equal measure.
Amelia and Peter sit at the far end of the table, their conversation quieter, more private. Ian and Nate have wandered off, chatting up a couple of first-year girls—Green Squad, if I’m guessing right.
I start to tune out, letting the voices blur as I scan the quad.
All around the field, other students have staked their claims—blankets stretched across the grass, shoes kicked off, snacks in hand.
Damn. I didn’t think to bring anything to sit on.
By the looks of it, neither did the rest of my squad.
We finish our food and begin drifting toward the dais. Dash catches my eye and waves, motioning for Rozsen and me to join him and his friends on their blankets. I start to smile, about to say yes—
But an arm snakes around my waist from behind.
I know who it is before I even look. His scent gives him away. Burnt cedar and mint—sharp, clean—but beneath it, something bolder. A trace of spice. Clove, maybe. Something that burns slow and lingers.
I smile as I look up at the face I’ve dreamed about countless times over these past few weeks—months, really, or years if you count when I only knew him from Alissa’s photos.
Noa kisses me then—right there, in front of everyone. It’s not quick, not gentle. It’s… consuming. Fire lights every nerve in my body as his mouth devours mine. When he finally pulls back, my pulse is chaos, my grin unstoppable.
“Subtle,” I tease, a little breathless. “Very subtle.”
“I told you I wouldn’t let anyone else have you if you said yes,” he growls.
“I remember,” I say, my face growing warm as I remember more.
“And I don’t like to share.” He nips at my ear as he narrows his eyes at Dash and his companions. His other arm comes around to hold me in place while he tucks my head under his chin and molds my back into the front of his chest. We both look out over the quad.
Around us, the school breathes to life.
Groups are already forming—some easy and familiar, like puzzle pieces snapping back into place.
Some students stretch out across blankets, boots off, limbs tangled or relaxed in comfort.
Others stand in loose circles, caught in the rhythm of excitement and laughter at inside jokes only they seem to understand.
A few lovers reunite in quiet, stolen touches.
I hear music, the beat fast and energetic.
Farther off, sharp voices clash—rivals rekindling old tension with half-smiles and narrowed eyes.
And us.
Wrapped in our own quiet bubble. Not yet ready to break the spell—not with talk, or truth, or the past.
Not yet at least.
The night feels stitched together by music and magick—old and new friendships, and the smell of fire and fall in the air.
“I’ve just got to make one quick announcement before the bonfire starts, but then I’ll be back, okay?” he murmurs. His warm breath sends shivers down my spine.
I squeeze his hand and flutter my lashes as I look up at him with mock innocence. “Don’t be gone too long. I’d hate to have to replace you so soon.”
He kisses me at that and gives my behind a squeeze as he makes his way to the dais. Just in front, a giant W made of straw and branches stands propped in a circle of stones, waiting to burn.
A girl with strawberry-pink hair is holding a microphone, making a welcome speech and going over some beginning-of-term announcements. Then the cheers erupt—hollers and stomps—as Noa steps close to the front.
I smile to myself and shake my head in amusement. Of course. Of course he’s the school’s golden boy.
All eyes are on him as hands clap his back and students call his name, and by the time he reaches the top of the stairs, the crowd is already his.
His voice rings out—clear, commanding, undeniably magnetic. “Good evening, legends-in-training.”
A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd.
“Tonight marks more than the start of another school year—it’s a turning point.
” His gaze sweeps the faces in the crowd, unhurried.
“There are forty-eight new students here tonight. And if you’ve been paying attention, you already know that not all of you will make it to graduation.
” He pauses then, as if letting that sink in.
“Some of you will wash out. Some of you will break. Some of you will learn—too late—that talent isn’t the same thing as control. ”
As if on cue, the water in me slithers under my skin, like an uninvited guest. I clench my hands, willing it to settle.
“But hear me when I say this: for returning students—the mistakes, the losses, the bruises you don’t talk about… That wasn’t cruelty. It was proof. Proof that you can endure. Proof that what you’re building here is worth the cost.”
Another pause, letting the crowd settle.
“This year is your chance to define who you are, and who you’re becoming.
Each of us walked through these gates carrying talent, ambition, and the power to shape not only our own paths—but the future of magick itself.
” His mouth curves with the hint of a smile.
“But true greatness isn’t forged alone. It’s built in unity.
In challenge. In the quiet moments when you choose discipline over ease—when you choose the strength of your squad over your pride. ”
He finds me in the crowd, and our eyes lock. A real smile breaks through this time, soft and unguarded. For a heartbeat, he forgets himself. Then he clears his throat and straightens.
“So let the Whittaker W burn hot tonight. Celebrate. Then wake up Monday and earn your place.”
The crowd erupts into applause, boot stomps, and cheers as Noa stands off to the side of the W below.
Damn, I think. He’s really good at this.
Noa makes a motion with his hands so subtle I would have missed it if I wasn’t so attuned to his body.
The W bursts into flames.
It isn’t ordinary flame. This is his fire—so bright it glows blue at the center.
The crowd gasps as flames spiral upward, swirling into shapes: dancers moving with provocative grace, their limbs sculpted in light.
Then they shoot up into the sky, bursting into a thousand sparks that rain down on us like falling stars.
It is completely magickal. Mysterious. Hypnotic.
And entirely him.
My father used to say that the first magick didn’t rise from the earth at all. It fell.
I watch as sparks drift around me like fireflies, lighting even the darkest shadows—and I can’t help but think that he was right.
Noa winks at me before walking back over to snag me possessively around the waist with one arm, while the other hand holds a beer a fellow student gave him.
“Impressive,” I say, nodding to the Flaming W and the glitter of embers still surrounding us.
“We aim to please,” he says as he nuzzles my ear.
The rest of the night dissolves in a blur of faces and firelight.
I meet some of Noa’s friends, their names already slipping from me like smoke.
Shared fragments of stories and drinks are passed around like currency.
My squad—Rozsen, Elliot, and the others—bask in the sudden elevation that my dating Noa Gallegher seems to have given us.
Status by association.
Heat by proximity.
Elliot’s playing a drinking game involving coins and stones with some fourth-years. Rozsen is lying on a blanket, stargazing with Noa’s blond friend we met in the Cavern. I think his name is Finn.
Gods, was that only just today? It feels like more time has passed. Like we’ve been carried miles and years since sunrise. My thoughts blur like watercolor in rain, everything soft-edged and glowing.
A large hand pulls me close. I lean into it, into him, enjoying the warmth radiating between us.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel…
content. Even with everything that’s happened—the pain, the loss, the unknown—something inside me settles.
Like a ship finding harbor after too long at sea.
It’s not just because of Noa, though that’s part of it. But because of this.
Being here. In this moment. Surrounded by people like me.
I’ve spent my whole life hiding this part of myself, thinking it was wrong. Dangerous. But this—this feels real. Like the start of something I didn’t know I’d been waiting for.
Noa’s breath dances across my lips before he kisses me. Soft and sure. “Walk you back to your dorm?” he asks, voice low. “Or can I convince you to stay with me tonight?”
I smile against his lips. “Lead the way, legend,” I whisper, throwing his earlier word back at him.
He laughs softly and begins steering us through the crowd. We move quietly, hand in hand, until the voices and music fade behind us.
The moon is bright tonight and reflects off the lake to our right. The gentle waves hum as they brush up onto the rocky shore. The silver moonlight makes the water glow like it’s lit from beneath.
I get that familiar pulse in my fingertips—my magick, just beneath the surface—awakening in response to the lake’s call. Something that’s only gotten louder since the squad challenge. The memory of the boat, the way it was pulled under like a warning, sends a shiver down my spine.
I pull closer to Noa, his warmth radiating, chasing the chill away. Whispers from the water glide softly over the lake’s mirror-like surface, no longer haunting, but peaceful. Serene.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, voice hushed.
“Yes, it is,” he replies.
But he isn’t looking at the lake.