The scroll vibrates violently now, the signatures at the bottom beginning to smoke.
“More,” Ash urges. “Everything you’ve got.”
I dig deeper, pulling from reservoirs of natural magic I’ve never accessed before. It rises from the earth beneath us, from the air around us, from the very atoms of existence itself. Pure, untapped power, the kind that doesn’t need spells or rituals. The magic that makes me who I am, and who they wanted to control.
The Great Hall begins to shake, and students start to flee the room, but Victoria stands her ground, though even she looks uncertain now.
I give everything I have, and more, and the world narrows to the scroll between our hands, the magic in our veins, the ancestors whose choices have defined our lives.
“Abigail,” I whisper to my ancestor. “Let go. It’s time to let go.”
And somehow, impossibly, I feel her presence. Not a ghost, not a spirit, but the ancestral memory of her that lives in my blood.She’s tired. So tired of the burden she’s carried, the choice she made to protect her family at the cost of their freedom.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then there’s a release, like a sigh of relief from generations of witches trapped in an endless cycle.
There’s a sound of ripping, a flash of blinding light, and a shockwave of power that throws everyone in the Great Hall off their feet. The scroll disintegrates between our hands, turning to ash that’s swept away in a spiral of wind, up toward the ceiling and gone.
The shock wave continues outward, beyond the walls of the Great Hall, beyond the academy itself, rippling across the magical world like a stone dropped in a still pond. I can feel it breaking lesser contracts, snapping magical bindings, severing chains that were never meant to last.
And then, just like that, it stops.
I’m on my knees, though I don’t remember falling. Ash is beside me, his face pale. My entire body feels hollow, emptied of energy, but there’s something new inside me too. Something free and wild and completely my own.
“Rose.” Drake’s hands are strong and reassuring as he helps me sit up. “Are you okay?”
I nod, unable to find my voice just yet. Lucien and Soren appear next, both looking slightly dazed but unharmed.
“That was, “ Soren starts, then shakes his head. “I don’t even have words, and I always have words.”
“Unprecedented,” Lucien supplies, his eyes looking me over for injuries.
I glance down at my arm. The blood mark is gone, leaving unblemished skin behind. When I reach for my magic, it comes to me instantly, strong, responsive and mine.
All mine.
“We did it,” I whisper, looking at Ash. “It worked.”
He stares at me with wonder, then down at his own arm where his mark has also vanished.
Victoria pushes through the crowd, her face a mask of rage and disbelief. “What have you done? Do you have any idea of the consequences?”
“We broke the chains,” I tell her, getting to my feet with Drake’s help. My legs feel wobbly, but I stand tall. “All of them.”
“Impossible,” she sputters, but I can see in her eyes that she knows it’s true. She can feel the change in the magic around us, the shift in the very foundation of witchcraft.
“Not impossible,” I say. “Just overdue.”
Forty-Two
Ash
Helicopter blades slice through the January air as another wealthy family arrives to pull their precious offspring from the clutches of the new anti-authoritarian Serpentine Academy. I watch from my position near the main building, arms crossed against the cold, counting in my head. That’s twelve so far today. Twelve families who can’t stomach the idea of equality, who’d rather uproot their children mid-term than let them exist in a world where the weak are not at the mercy of the strong.
It’s to be expected. Change is not something the elite families welcome. It’s seen as a threat to their power.
The helicopter touches down on the frost-covered lawn, its downdraft creating a temporary whirlwind of snow. Out steps a man in a blue suit, followed by a woman whose jewelry screams old money, old magic. The kind of people who’ve had their bloodlines carefully curated for generations. They don’t look at me as they pass, though they certainly know who I am. The warlock who betrayed his own kind by helping break the bloodcontract. The traitor who chose a bound witch over centuries of tradition.
I don’t give a fuck what they think.
