Magic has always been present, buzzing beneath my skin. Not dramatic, no fireworks in the sky, just small things at first. Candles lean toward me as I pass by. Dreams that seemed more like warnings than fantasy. Things like this are difficult to convey without seeming insane. I did not ask for it. I did not earn it. It's just me.
I enjoy the spells, potions, and the rush of casting something ancient and having it vibrate through the air. I am delighted by my progress in ascending to the top of my academic rankings and finally fulfilling my true potential.
But I despise the assignments.
Specifically, the ones that require me to shadow a skilled witch.
Victoria Langford is the type of witch you won't forget.
She leaves an imprint, not because she is powerful, although she certainly is. She leaves no bruising or scars behind. She leaves a lasting impression, a sensation that endures even after her departure. The way smoke clings to your clothes or regret settles into your chest.
She is my allocated fieldwork mentor. Lucky me.
The first time I met her, she didn't say anything, just stared at me with eyes like damp ash and pupils so pale they were nearly silver. Her skin was the color of ancient parchment, stretched thin over sharp cheekbones and a jaw that never appeared to clench. Her hair was a tangled jumble of gray and black, held back with a bone pin that appeared frighteningly real.
She smelled of moist mud and rusting iron.
I recall thinking she looked like someone who had already been buried and refused to go down. And I wasn't the only one who thought so; people muttered about her in the corridors, saying she had that look, that edge, as if death had passed her by and she had stared him down.
I had to meet her today at a house on the outskirts of town, the type of location people only visit when they are lost. The shutters sagged, the paint flaked, and the entire street seemed abandoned. I was feeling the heebie jeebies just standing there, staring at the house in front of me.
She finally spoke after what felt like five minutes of intense quiet. Her voice came out low and scratchy. It wasn't the voice you'd expect from her, and it gave me the unsettling impression that whatever she said wasn't fully her.
"You're going to watch. You will learn. You will not tell anyone about this.
I nodded. What else can I do?
The first assignment was a cleanse. At least that's what she called it. A family experienced unusual activity in their home, including chilly spots, flickering lights, and voices in the walls. I expected sage, salt, and perhaps a chant or two.
Instead, Victoria brought a crow in a burlap bag. The bird cried out, attempting to flee.
She took the crow out, sliced its throat over the threshold, and mumbled something in a language I couldn't understand. The blood heated as it touched the ground. The family watched from the kitchen, terrified. I stood frozen, guts churning.
Later, she explained that the bird was a "conduit." She explained that it is meant to absorb negative energy.
I did not sleep that night.
Since then, I've seen her perform worse. Bones buried under the moonlight. Nails are pushed into wax dolls. She once made me hold a jar of teeth as she summoned something I couldn't see but could certainly feel.
She never explains. Never teaches. Just commands.
And always, the same warning: "Tell no one."
I have not. Not my lecturers. Not even my mother.
Because Victoria not only scares me, but she also knows stuff. Things she should not do. She once referred to my grandmother by name. The actress "had a promising future before she got soft."
I didn't inquire what she meant.
I did not want to know.
Today, I am scheduled to meet her behind the old greenhouse on the academy grounds. It has been abandoned for many years and is overgrown with ivy and moss. The glass is shattered, and the door has rusted shut. But Victoria has the key. Of course, she does.
Upon my arrival, I find her crouched by a circle of stones adorned with runes. A little fire is burning in the center, with something wrapped in fabric near it.
She does not look up.
"You're late."
"I'm on time," I say as I check my watch.
She smiles without humor. "Witches can bend time. You'll discover that."
I do not respond. I watch her unwrap the cloth. Inside is a little animal—possibly a rabbit or a squirrel. It's difficult to tell. It has already died.
I take a step backward. "Nope. No. Not going to happen. "We won't do that again."
She eventually looks at me. Her eyes are darker now, like storm clouds before a tornado.
"You want power, don't you?"
"I seek information. Control. "Not whatever this is." I gestured with my hands toward her and the dead animal.
She stands slowly, the firelight casting shadows on her face. "There is no control without sacrifice." No knowledge is without risk. Do you think your mother is teaching you everything? She taught you to stay safe. "I am teaching you to be strong."
I clench my fists. "There's a difference between strength and cruelty."
Victoria approaches, and the air becomes colder and heavier, as if it is holding me down. "You're not ready," she adds, her words ripping through. "You believe you are, yet you are still soft. Still terrified. Just like Lottie, in the end."
I catch my breath. "Leave her out of this."
Her smile is modest and somewhat pitying. "She attempted to protect you. She made an effort to shield you from your own dreams. She tried to shield you from your bloodline. But you can't hide indefinitely. What's in you will always find a way out."
The words sank into me like freezing water. I don't comprehend what she's saying, and part of me hopes I never will.
She turns back to the fire. "Go. We're finished for today. But next time, you'll bring something unique. Something that bleeds."
I go away without looking back.
But her words follow me.
What is inside you will always find a way out.
I turn on my heel and walk away from Victoria, my pulse racing and my jaw tight. No matter what I say, she turns it into something sharp. I am in need of air. Space. Anything else to think about?
This is the first year that I've looked forward to school break. It begins on June twenty-second, my birthday. My approach is straightforward: sleep as much as possible, only getting up for food and potty breaks, and definitely not seeing Victoria or listening to her lecture me on "essential witch practices."
Shelby is picking me up today. We are going shopping for ball accessories, shoes, jewelry, and even a new purse. She is the only person outside of my family who knows I am a witch. Telling her was not easy. I had to beg my mother for permission more times than I could count, and she still answered no.
She eventually relented. But only after Shelby made me swear that she would never tell anyone about it.
I'm not sure why she was so terrified. It's not as if we live in the 1600s. Nobody's going to burn me at the stake.
Shelby has never judged me. If anything, she is interested. She enjoys hearing about my lessons, assignments, and the spells I have learned. She chuckles when I tell her that my potions smell like dead animals or gym socks. She is the only one who makes the madness seem regular.
Her small blue Volkswagen comes to a halt inches from my feet. I climb in, place my luggage at my feet, and put my head on the seat.
It had been a long morning.
"I tried to cast a protection charm on a teddy bear," I'm whispering. "It caught fire."
Shelby's eyes widened. "You what?"
"Don't ask."
She snorts. "Okay, Pyromancer. Where to?"
"Wherever the shoes are cheap and the coffee is strong."
We wind ourselves at the outlet mall, walking from store to store, trying on everything from glittering heels to combat boots. After a few hours, we find the shoes. Midnight blue, coated with tiny sparkles, with a heel that makes Shelby's legs appear to go on forever.
She twirls in front of the mirror, smiling. "I look like a goddess."
"You look like trouble," I remark, smirking.
Shelby has always been lovely. Her rich chocolate hair falls in beautiful curls barely past her shoulders. Her bangs frame her heart-shaped face, and her complexion glows as if she's constantly kissed by the sun. She exudes effortless confidence, which draws people in.
I've always admired that about her.
We have iced coffees and sit on a seat outside the food court, watching people walk past. Shelby is discussing the ball—how she wants to do her hair, what Evan is wearing, and whether she should wear a feathered mask.
I nod along, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
Victoria. The nightmares. The pendant hung around my neck.
And Lottie.
My grandmother's name feels like a spell—heavy, ancient, and frightening.
I had not seen her since we were in the basement. She snatched something from me. A reminiscence. A dream. A portion of my soul.
I wear the pendant she gave me. Silver crescent moon carved with runes. I have never been able to translate. She said it would keep me safe from "the things that live between dreams."
I didn't comprehend what she meant.
But now, with the dreams returning, I believe I'm beginning to.