Chapter 32
JAX
“Hope this is worth stalking one of the most powerful wardens in the coven,” I murmur.
But I do want to follow Blythe. She was in Dad’s notes, and I would’ve already gone up and spoken to her before now if he would’ve let me.
She was researching something before he disappeared.
Something that stood out enough for Dad to pay attention to.
I keep my distance, ducking behind pillars whenever Blythe slows or pauses. My graveball training comes in useful. I know how to move quietly despite my size. Still, every sound feels magnified in the empty corridor: my breathing, the soft pad of my boots, the rustle of my jacket.
Blythe turns a corner, heading toward the council chambers. She places her palm against an authentication rune beside the entrance. It glows briefly before the doors swing open with a soft groan, then close behind her.
“So how are we doing this?” I whisper.
“Press your ear to the door.”
Oh, so good old-fashioned eavesdropping. Don’t know why I was expecting something fancier.
My pulse still hammers as I move closer. I’ve never made a habit of getting caught eavesdropping, and I definitely never expected to find myself spying on my own coven’s leadership.
A strange coolness suddenly spreads from the center of my chest outward, like water flowing to my extremities. Then my outline seems to blur at the edges, and the shadows around me deepen, apparently clinging to my form.
“What are you doing?” I murmur.
“Shadow-muffling,” Dad explains. “An old espionage technique. It doesn't make you invisible, but it dampens your presence. Sound, magical signature, even your scent, all reduced.”
I flex my fingers, watching the shadows ripple with the movement. “Pretty amazing you can still work your old tricks as an Ide.”
“If anything, my magic’s more powerful, but I’m still learning how to work it to its full extent. Now, let’s focus.”
I press my ear to one of the door’s hinges.
“The integration proceeds as expected. Most are adapting well.” It’s Dominic’s distinctive, low, controlled voice—or rather, his voice through Elliot’s.
“And those who aren’t?” I realize that’s the voice of my mother, her tone oddly neutral.
“They will,” Dominic replies. “The human consciousness is stubborn, but ultimately, survival instincts win out.”
“My vessel still resists,” Uncle Edwin says. “Particularly when his children are nearby. The parental bond is strong.”
That's not Uncle Edwin. Not really.
“Edwin Salem is a strong-willed man,” Dominic acknowledges. “He takes after his mother. But even the most stubborn cannot maintain resistance indefinitely. The process simply requires time. They will all realize harmony with their Ides is in everyone’s best interest.”
A slow weight settles in my chest. They’re having a meeting among themselves. The Ides. Did Mom or Edwin consent to that?
“Director Reinhardt, your assessment of the coven's rebuilding efforts?” Dominic continues.
“Progressing on schedule,” Reinhardt's voice replies, but with that same strange neutral cadence. Director Reinhardt, who’s basically the top dog when it comes to our coven’s security.
“The vessels' knowledge of the structures is useful. Though this one continually attempts to assert control, especially when discussing student welfare.”
“That will ease,” Dominic assures him. “Also, I’m curious: What’s your opinion of the latest Salem addition? The one who returned from death?”
My heart skips a beat.
“His Ide appears to be integrating well,” Burr's voice answers, and, again, it doesn’t sound like himself. “Though I've observed unusual resistance patterns during training exercises. Almost as if...”
“As if what?” Dominic asks.
“As if the Ide itself is resistant to full control,” Burr finishes.
So Burr’s Ide is keeping an eye on Dad and me? I swear I sensed Dad more tense around him. I’m not sure to what end, though.
And I’m still processing the fact that even Burr’s here—the man who’s teaching us control. Unless he gave permission for his Ide to hold a strategy meeting, with the others? But why now, so late at night?
“Dominic,” Blythe’s voice chimes in for the first time. And I’m surprised that she doesn’t sound possessed. She sounds like her usual dry yet sharp self. “May I remind you we have a meeting with Esther in a half-hour.”
Esther. My grandmother. She’s in on these meetings too?
And why is Blythe still not possessed? Do the Ides not like her for some reason? Her age?
My mind’s spinning, questions stacking faster than I can make sense of them.
“I haven’t forgotten, of course,” Dominic replies, voice low. “We’re almost done here...”
There’s a beat of silence. Then I hear movement inside the chamber. Footsteps approaching the door. I duck quickly into an alcove, pressing myself against the wall as the door opens. Through the gap, I see Dominic step out into the corridor. He glances around, posture calm.
The coldness in my chest intensifies, thanks to my father’s magic, and it feels like gushes of icy water flow through my limbs.
“Keep silent,” my dad says, and I feel his tension.
Behind Dominic, through the open doors, I catch a glimpse into the council chamber.
It’s dimly lit by floating orbs of pale blue light.
Around the massive oak table sit figures I've known all my life, yet they suddenly feel like strangers.
My mother, sitting stiffly, her silver-streaked hair gleaming in the ethereal light.
Uncle Edwin, his posture also unusually rigid.
Director Reinhardt, his face a passive mask.
Corvin stands near a bookshelf, his large frame casting long shadows.
Professor Burr sits directly across from my mother, while in the far corner, partially obscured by shadows, sits Warden Blythe, quiet and observing.
My father’s reaction at the sight of both his brother and wife together distracts me for a moment. I realize he hasn’t properly seen his brother since he came to.
“Edwin, you aged well.”
But I also feel his deep unease. I try to focus.
Dominic pauses in the corridor, his head tilting slightly as if he's sensing something. I hold my breath, pressing deeper into the alcove. The shadow-muffling feels like a thin membrane between me and discovery, fragile as tissue paper.
Something scratches at the back of my head at the sight of Dominic—his presence, his manner, sparks a weird feeling of deja vu I can’t quite put my finger on—but before I can process it, Dominic turns and walks back to the council chamber. The doors click closed behind him.
“Do you think he sensed us?” I breathe.
“Can’t be certain,” my father replies. “Ides’ ability to spiritually detect one another is muffled when we’re inside vessels. There’s a lot of host interference. But I suggest we leave before your grandmother arrives. She’ll have an easier time sensing us.”
I start to back away, even though I feel the burning urge to stay. What would Dominic, Blythe, and Esther’s meeting be about? Just more coven security?
Why do I feel so uneasy about this whole thing?
“I want to stay too,” my father says, as if reading my thoughts, “but she’ll know we’re here. If they’re planning to discuss anything… confidential, we’ll need another way to get that intel.”
Reluctantly, I turn, heading back down the hallway. As I speed up to a jog, my mind replays the sight I caught within the council chamber. This whole late-night meeting thing just feels… off.
“Do you think everyone in that room consented to that meeting?” I murmur. “Even Mom, Edwin?”
I sense the unease in my father more strongly. “Humans are particularly vulnerable to spirits when tired or asleep. Not hard for an Ide to manipulate when defenses are down. It’s possible the Ides arranged the meeting on their own.”
My breath hitches. So that means they could be holding these creepy meetings every night?
And maybe that’s how Nyv lost control to her Ide, who happens to be a complete freak.
We seriously need better systems for this—monitoring, control.
I don’t care how—surprisingly—composed Dominic seems, or how on-board Blythe appears to be with it; Ides aren’t supposed to be neat and cooperative.
They’re wild spirits. They’ve got their own agendas.
Some of them are clearly more unhinged than others.
And we’re supposed to be the ones holding the full leash here, not the other way around.
That was the whole point of letting them loose.
My mind circles back again to Blythe as I run the final stretch to my dorm.
How she just seemed to be sitting there, so comfortably.
I didn’t get a long look inside that room, but from what I did see, her expression definitely didn’t strike me as altered.
She looked like herself, cool and observant. Just like her voice.
Which means—
Someone strides around the corner and I find myself nearly body-checking Amelie.
We both jolt back. My heart tries to punch straight through my ribs.
She’s in her midnight-blue pajama set, hair still damp and softer than the usual spiky chaos she rocks during the day. Her eyes and expression look… normal, too. She’s not giving obvious Ide vibes. Just Amelie, looking mildly annoyed at almost getting steamrolled.
“Damn, Jax,” she hisses, clutching her chest. “You trying to give me a heart attack or what?”
“Sorry—sorry,” I mutter, trying to sound normal. “What the hell are you doing up?”
She arches an eyebrow, folding her arms. “I could ask you the same thing. You look like you just ran a marathon. What’d you do, sneak out for a booty call with Fiona again?”
I let out a weak laugh that sounds more like I’m choking. “We broke up last year, Am. For the hundredth time.”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Casanova.” She smirks, but her eyes flick over me a little too carefully. “For real though… you good? You look… stressed.”
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to play it cool even though my pulse is still jackhammering. “Yeah, just… went for a late-night run. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.”
“Run,” she repeats flatly, deadpan. “In the middle of the night. In the coven halls. Sure.”
“Cardio’s important,” I deadpan back.
Amelie snorts. “You’re such a shit liar.” She shifts her weight, and I notice she’s holding a small black notebook and a pen. “Anyway, I’m headed to the graveyard. Burr can’t stall the rest of the curriculum forever, and I’ve got reanimation coursework to catch up on.”
Right. Because we don’t already have enough ghosts in our lives.
There’s a small section of our graveyard dedicated to remains of people whose souls passed on and were never bound to our coven. Those are the ones we use for practicing necromancy-type skills—in particular, animating dead matter. Fun stuff. Occasionally useful.
“Yeah…” The word tastes bitter. I can’t get rid of the feeling of unease in my chest.
Amelie tilts her head, studying me again. “You sure you’re okay? You’re being extra weird tonight. Even for you.”
I swallow. For a half second, I almost tell her everything—the conversation I just overheard, the fact that our own heads of security are apparently currently riding shotgun with wild spirits, the minor detail that my dad is living rent-free in my skull.
But I don’t. Not yet. Her Ide’s surely listening, and something tells me my dad’s stealth-approach to this new situation is still, currently, the smartest one.
“Yeah, just tired,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “And I’ve got a headache.”
“Well… text me if it gets worse, yeah? I’ve got emergency snacks and terrible horror movies. We can dissociate together.”
Something tight in my chest loosens just a fraction. “Yeah. Thanks, Am.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers as she passes. “Don’t stay up overthinking stuff, dumbass. You get ugly when you stress.”
“Love you too,” I mutter.
“Obviously. Night, Salem.”
“Night.”
Why is it that girls seem to get off on insulting me? Do I just have that kind of face or what?
I shake the thought aside.
As I hurry the rest of the stretch to my dorm, the tension inside me doesn’t ease. Because what I saw won’t leave me. And Dominic’s voice won’t quite let go… Calm. Confident. Controlled. More so than even Director Reinhardt.