Chapter 13: Sacred Grounds
The Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted smelled like chalk dust and teenage hormones mixed with the faint ozone afterburn of serious magic—a combination that reminded me uncomfortably of my own high school, if my high school had been populated by vampires, witches, and whatever other supernatural creatures attended orientation day.
[SYSTEM: Snooping at a magic school? You're begging for trouble.]
I stood at the school's main entrance, trying to look like someone who belonged rather than a grown man with questionable motives lurking around a boarding school. The Gothic architecture was impressive in a "wealthy alumni with supernatural tendencies" sort of way, all ivy-covered stone and tall windows that probably had protective wards built into the glass.
"Can I help you?"
The voice belonged to a girl who looked maybe sixteen, with blonde hair and the kind of confidence that suggested she was used to being in charge of situations. She studied me with sharp intelligence, her head tilted slightly as if trying to place me in some mental filing system.
"I'm looking for Landon Kirby," I said, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "Marcel Gerard said he might be able to help with a... research project."
The girl's expression shifted from curious to cautious. "And you are?"
"Alex Thorne. I'm working with the Mikaelsons in New Orleans on a supernatural situation that might benefit from his expertise."
"Lizzie Saltzman," she said, extending her hand with the kind of firm grip that suggested she could probably bench press a small car. "And the 'supernatural situation' wouldn't happen to involve ancient evil spirits, would it?"
"How did you—"
"Lucky guess. Landon's been having nightmares about cosmic prison systems for the past week. Josie thinks it's connected to his Malivore heritage, but the timing seems awfully coincidental." She gestured toward the school's main building. "Come on. He's in the library doing what he calls 'research' and what I call 'obsessive worry-reading.'"
The school's interior was a study in controlled supernatural chaos. Students moved through the hallways with the casual ease of teenagers, but I caught glimpses of magic being used for everything from opening stuck lockers to levitating textbooks. The sound of laughter mixed with the occasional spell chant, creating an atmosphere that was both normal and completely surreal.
I reached for vampire hearing, letting Klaus's borrowed senses expand my awareness of the conversations happening throughout the building. Most were standard teenage concerns—homework, relationships, weekend plans—but underneath it all was an undercurrent of power that made my borrowed supernatural instincts stay alert.
"The library's this way," Lizzie said, leading me through a corridor lined with portraits that definitely moved when I wasn't looking directly at them. "Fair warning: Landon gets nervous around new people. Especially new people who show up asking about cosmic horror adjacent topics."
We found him exactly where Lizzie had predicted—hunched over a table covered with books that looked like they'd been bound in materials I didn't want to identify. He was maybe eighteen, with curly hair and the kind of earnest expression that suggested he took everything very seriously.
"Landon," Lizzie called out. "You have a visitor."
He looked up from his reading with the startled expression of someone who'd been completely absorbed in research. When he saw me, his eyes widened slightly.
"You're him," he said, voice carrying a slight stammer. "The one from the visions."
"Visions?" I asked, settling into the chair across from him. The library smelled like old books and something else—something that reminded me of the ozone scent that had followed the Malivore shadow-smoke.
"I've been dreaming about someone who looks like you," Landon explained, his hands fidgeting with the edges of his book. "Standing in a place that shouldn't exist, holding something that looks like liquid darkness. The dreams started about two weeks ago."
The timeline matched perfectly with when I'd first encountered the Hollow. Coincidence seemed unlikely in a world where ancient spirits and cosmic prisons were apparently real things.
"Marcel mentioned you might have access to an artifact that could help with containment," I said. "Something about a dagger?"
Landon's expression grew even more serious, if that was possible. "The Malivore dagger. It's... complicated. The artifact can contain supernatural entities, but using it requires understanding the connection between the wielder and whatever's being contained." He paused, studying me with the intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle. "In your case, that might be problematic."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the dreams I've been having suggest you're connected to Malivore in ways that go beyond simple supernatural exposure. The visions show you as both prisoner and guard, victim and warden." Landon's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Which is impossible, unless..."
"Unless what?"
Before he could answer, the temperature in the library dropped fifteen degrees in the space of a heartbeat. The windows rattled in their frames, and every book on every shelf began vibrating like tuning forks.
"Coven scouts," Lizzie said grimly, magic already crackling around her fingers. "They followed you here."
Through the library's tall windows, I could see figures in dark robes moving across the school's grounds with predatory purpose. They moved too fast to be entirely human, and the wrongness that emanated from them made my borrowed vampire senses recoil.
"Get the students to safety," I told Lizzie, reaching for Klaus's hybrid strength. "I'll handle the uninvited guests."
"Like hell," she replied. "This is our school."
The first witch came through the library's main entrance like smoke given malevolent form. Her magic tasted like burnt metal and decay, nothing like the structured power of Davina's spells or even the chaotic energy of the Hollow.
I moved before conscious thought could interfere, closing the distance between us with borrowed supernatural speed. My fist connected with her solar plexus with enough force to launch her backward through the entrance and into the hallway beyond.
"Impressive," Lizzie said, her own magic turning another approaching witch into what looked like a very surprised statue. "But there are more coming."
She was right. They kept pouring through the school's various entrances, their numbers far exceeding what should have been possible for a scouting mission. This was either an invasion or a very elaborate distraction.
Wind whipped through the library as spell-smoke filled the air with the acrid scent of supernatural warfare. I ducked a bolt of dark energy that left a smoking crater in the wall behind me, then used borrowed speed to close the distance between myself and the nearest attacker.
"Landon," I called out over the sounds of battle, "the dagger—where is it?"
"Headmaster Saltzman's office," he replied, taking cover behind an overturned table. "But Alex, if the visions are right, using it might—"
His warning was cut off by another surge of attackers pouring through the windows. These weren't the organized professionals who'd been stalking us in New Orleans—these were desperate, sloppy, more concerned with causing chaos than achieving specific objectives.
That's when the punishment kicked in.
My throat began vibrating without my permission, producing sounds that could generously be described as singing if you had very low standards for vocal performance. The melody was recognizable—something that might have been a pop song if pop songs were performed by tone-deaf angels having existential crises.
[SYSTEM: Serenading the night? You're no pop star.]
Every witch in the immediate vicinity paused their attacks to stare at me in confusion. The involuntary concert was apparently as bewildering to them as it was to me.
"Are you..." Lizzie started, then burst into laughter despite the ongoing battle. "Are you singing?"
"Not intentionally," I managed between verses of what might have been a Taylor Swift song filtered through a broken theremin. The vibrations in my throat were getting stronger, my voice rising and falling in ways that defied both melody and common sense.
Landon's wide-eyed stare suggested he was reconsidering every assumption he'd made about mysterious supernatural visitors. "Is this... normal for you?"
"Define normal," I replied, then launched into what sounded like the chorus of a song that had never been written by anyone with functioning ears.
The absurdity of fighting supernatural terrorists while performing an impromptu one-man show was not lost on me. But the singing seemed to be working as a distraction—the witches were too confused by my vocal dysfunction to mount effective attacks.
Lizzie took advantage of their bewilderment to finish the fight with spectacular efficiency. Her magic turned the remaining attackers into various garden ornaments, including what appeared to be a very angry gargoyle and a birdbath with vengeance issues.
The singing finally stopped, leaving behind only the ringing aftermath of supernatural combat and my bruised vocal cords.
"Well," Lizzie said, surveying the transformed attackers with satisfaction, "that was educational."
"The dreams," Landon said quietly, his earlier nervousness replaced by something that looked like recognition. "You're the one who's supposed to bridge the gap. The connection between what was lost and what needs to be contained."
"That's not ominous at all," I said, my voice hoarse from the involuntary performance.
As we made our way toward the headmaster's office to discuss the dagger situation, I caught Landon glancing at me with an expression that suggested he was seeing something I couldn't. The weight of whatever he wasn't saying pressed against the space between us like an unspoken prophecy.
Behind us, the library slowly returned to normal, though the scorch marks and inexplicably placed garden statuary would probably require some creative explanations for the morning shift.
Whatever Landon knew about my connection to Malivore, whatever the visions had shown him about cosmic prisons and impossible bridges, one thing was becoming clear: my problems were evolving beyond simple supernatural politics into something that touched the very foundations of reality itself.
The dagger might provide answers, but something told me those answers would come with a price I wasn't prepared to pay.
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