Brimstone Academy had many strange traditions—monthly blood-moon duels, potion tastings with questionable legality, the occasional hallway that tried to eat first-years—but none as baffling as the Midwinter Masquerade.
"It's supposed to be a celebration of arcane balance and illusion," Ciaran said, holding a raven-feathered mask up to the light. "But mostly it's an excuse for everyone to dress dramatically and make out behind enchanted curtains."
Rose eyed her own mask skeptically. It was black velvet with silver embroidery that shimmered like stormlight. Nimbus sat nearby trying to eat the sequins off someone else's costume. "Why do we even have a school dance?"
"Because even emotionally repressed witches need a place to flirt without setting the tapestry on fire," Ciaran said. "Speaking of, is Basil going with anyone?"
Rose blinked. "I—what? I don't know."
"You don't want to know, or you're pretending not to?"
She didn't answer. Her cheeks betrayed her.
That night, the Academy's Great Hall was transformed. Floating lanterns swirled like constellations, and illusions of ice wolves prowled across the floor between candlelit tables. Everyone wore masks—some eerie, some dazzling, all enchanted.
Rose stepped inside and immediately felt underdressed, overwhelmed, and suspicious.
"Why is this so nice?" she muttered.
Nimbus hovered beside her, glimmering faintly. "It's probably cursed."
Before she could agree, a voice spoke behind her.
"You clean up well, Thorne."
She turned.
Basil stood in a tailored coat the color of midnight, his mask shaped like a dragon wing. Even with most of his face hidden, she recognized the curl of his mouth when he smirked.
"You didn't explode anything," he added. "Yet."
She crossed her arms. "Don't sound so hopeful."
They moved together through the crowd, brushing hands without quite holding them, orbiting like comets.
The music shifted to a slower rhythm. Without speaking, Basil offered his hand. Rose hesitated, then took it.
They danced. Imperfectly, unevenly—but in sync, like their magic. Every step sparked with unspoken tension.
"You look like you belong here," he said.
She looked up at him. "That's a lie."
"Maybe," he said softly. "But it's a beautiful one."
Before she could respond, a cold gust blew through the hall. The lanterns flickered. The music stuttered to silence.
A figure appeared in the archway—tall, robed, masked in bone. The temperature dropped like a curse.
Rose's hand tightened in Basil's. "Let me guess. Not on the guest list."
The figure raised a hand and spoke a single word in an ancient tongue.
The runes carved into the walls of the Great Hall lit up—first white, then green.
Belladoma shoved her way to the front, wand raised. "Everyone OUT—now!"
The masked intruder vanished in a gust of black feathers.
Rose and Basil stood frozen. Their glyphs were glowing again.
"They were watching us," Basil said.
Rose's heart pounded. "No. They were waiting for us."
Above, the floating lanterns flickered once more, and one by one, began to go dark.