Page 31 of A Touch of Madness

I brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingertips linger against her warming skin. “I thinkyou’recapable of anything, Sylvie Rosenthal. And I think you’re starting to see that too. You just have to keep believing it.”

Her lips curve into the faintest of smiles, and for a moment, the weight of the world doesn’t seem quite so heavy.

Last night replays in my mind. My thoughts are heavy, but not with despair. For once, there’s something grounding me, something steady. Someone.

Lucian.

I can’t stop replaying the way he held me last night, the way his voice wrapped around my frayed nerves and pulled me back from the edge. He didn’t push, didn’t demand answers I wasn’t ready to give—he just… was there. And in the quiet, when the weight of everything threatened to crush me, he reminded me I didn’t have to face it alone. I never knew how much I needed that until he gave it so freely. He’s done it before, sure, but the more he reassures me the more it fully sinks in.

He’s so much more than the enigmatic vampire I first met. He’s my tether, my calm in the storm. The way he looks at me—like I’m something precious, worth fighting for—it’s overwhelming. He sees parts of me I haven’t fully understood yet, parts I didn’t even know were there. And when he says I’m strong, when he says we’ll get through this together, I almost believe it.

Almost. But that’s more than I had before him. And for now, it’s enough.

I’m still reeling over what happened in Mr. Fallon’s office. How easy it was for Blackthorne to just assume I’m up to shady things. Yes, I am fully aware it looks like me in those photos, but to just drop me without letting me explain before making a decision? Now I have to jump through hoops to get the administration to listen. I’m devastated over it. I was really enjoying my classes, and I felt like I was learning so much. I enjoyed my professors and building a bond with Marisol.

But now it’s all gone to shit. It’s just one more thing on my long list of things to figure out. Right now, though, I have to change gears.

The doors of the Witch’s Guild creak open, the sound reverberating through the vast, silent halls. As Ravenna steps inside, I follow close behind, nerves twisting my stomach into tight knots. The air immediately feels heavier, charged with an energy that prickles my skin.

The entryway is breathtaking—impossibly grand, with a vaulted ceiling painted like a star-filled night sky. Constellations shimmer faintly above us, their faint light playing off crystal chandeliers that cast tiny rainbows across the polished black-and-white marble floor. The scent of sage, ancient wood, and something faintly metallic lingers in the air.

Nicole and Rebecca hover beside me, their presence a small comfort in this overwhelming space. Nicole glances my way, offering a faint smile that does little to ease the tightness in my chest.

“Stay close,” Ravenna murmurs, her voice low but firm as we walk deeper into the Guild. “This is not a place to wander. There are many things going on, and I’d like you to not get caught up in them.”

The corridors stretch endlessly, each one lined with tall arched windows that overlook the moonlit Delaware River below. I catch glimpses of the water’s silvery surface between the thick velvet drapes, and for a moment, it feels like the Guild exists in an entirely different world.

“What a beautiful place,” I whisper, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“The Guild chose this land centuries ago,” Ravenna says without turning. “It holds power, like all sacred places. It was the Guild that built this sanctuary atop it.”

We pass witches along the way—men and women of all ages, dressed in flowing robes or modern clothing that looks out of place in such an ancient setting. Some carry books or bundles of herbs; others clutch staffs adorned with glowing runes. None of them stop to look at us, though their presence makes the space feel even more alive, as if the very walls hum with their combined magic.

I struggle to breathe as the weight of the atmosphere settles over me. Every step deeper into the Guild feels like stepping further into an invisible current of power. By the time we stop in front of an ornate double door etched with glowing runes, my palms are slick with sweat.

Ravenna turns to face me. “Once we go inside, speak only when spoken to,” she warns, her gaze sharp. “The elders are not ones to suffer interruptions or idle questions.”

My throat feels dry, but I manage to nod.

Nicole leans in close, her whisper light in my ear. “You’ll be fine. Just… don’t freak out.”

Rebecca offers me a reassuring look, but even she looks unnerved.

Ravenna places her hand against the center of the door and murmurs something in a language I can’t recognize. The runes glow brighter, and the doors swing open soundlessly, revealing a room that takes my breath away.

The circular chamber is illuminated by soft, flickering light from floating candles. The domed ceiling above is painted with shifting constellations, as if the very cosmos were alive here. At the center of the room sits a massive table carved from black obsidian, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen.

Three women sit around the table, their presence so commanding that I instinctively stop in my tracks.

The eldest—or who I assume is the eldest, judging by her skin and hair—sits at the center, her white hair pulled into an intricate braid that falls over one shoulder. Her crimson robes shimmer faintly in the candlelight, and her piercing silver eyes lock onto mine with a sharpness that makes my stomach flip.

This is exactly what I envisioned when thinking about a guild full of witches. Not the people dressed in modern clothing like me, but this…this room and these women.

There’s also a woman with rich, dark skin and coiled golden hair that seems to catch the light. Nicole resembles her in many ways, her bone structure, her skin, her hair. The woman’s necklace of polished gemstones clinks softly as she moves, her gaze warm but penetrating.

The third woman is tall and elegant, her silver hair cascading in waves down her back. Her beautiful gray eyes flicker with intensity, like the calm before a thunderstorm. Her deep blue gown glimmers faintly with embroidered stars that seem to twinkle as she shifts.

“Sylvie Rosenthal,” the eldest says, her voice resonant and firm. “You have arrived at last.”

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