Page 12 of Heir of Shadows

And me? I’d just found out I was a witch, and my magic was still rattling inside me like it hadn’t figured out what body it belonged to. Which, honestly, same.

This was supposed to be my world now. So why did it already feel like I didn’t belong?

“No more tricks,” Keane promised, gesturing toward the perfectly normal-looking hallway between the administration offices and a closed campus store.

I wanted to refuse his help—wanted to prove I didn’t need saving from rich boys and their games. But I could still feel the vampire’s cold grip, the echo of Elio’s enchantment thrumming in my skull.

The hallway looked normal now. But I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trustanyof this.

As we walked, Cyrus muttered, “She’s stronger than she looks.”

“Indeed,” Elio said.

I followed Keane, doing my best not to look as rattled as I felt. The dead things slunk back into the walls, but I could still feel them—watching, waiting, whispering.

Three heirs. All terrifying. All unfairly pretty.

And none of them made me feel like I belonged here.

5

Keane

I kept myportals open as I led her across campus, each window showing a different angle of our progress. Wisp slipped between them, my familiar’s spectral form alert and watchful. Not just for security—though that was the excuse I’d give if anyone asked—but because I wanted to see how she moved through our world.

The Shadow Heir.

The cleaning girl who could command the dead.

Elio’s illusions had cut deeper than necessary, even for him. And Cyrus… well, his fire hadn’t exactly shown restraint. I’d stepped in before I had time to second-guess it. Something in the way she’d stayed standing, even when she was shaking, had struck harder than I expected.

Uncle would say I was being soft. He always did.

But watching her now, I knew I’d made the right call.

She walked like someone used to making herself small—shoulders tight, steps cautious. But her chin stayed lifted. Braced for the next hit.

Smart girl.

“This is the academic wing,” I said, indicating the classrooms we passed. My voice sounded rusty from disuse. I hadn’t ever played tour guide, being new to Wickem myself, but better that I accompanied her than leaving her to more of their “welcome”. Something about their eagerness to break her had stirred an unexpected protectiveness in me. Maybe because I knew what it was like to be at someone else’s mercy.

Her fingers absently reached for a silver ring on a chain around her neck. I could feel power emanating from it. I wondered if she knew it was enchanted.

A sharp pain lanced through my temples, stopping me cold. I closed my eyes, breathed through it. Wisp nudged closer—silent, steady, familiar. The headaches had been worse lately. Ever since Uncle upped the stabilization sessions.

Eight years of that routine, like clockwork. Since the fallout. Since my magic cracked wide open at ten years old and nearly took me with it. Necessary, yes. The price of control.

Without them, my portals turned volatile. Too wide, too unstable. Too dangerous.

Uncle made sure I never forgot that.

At least he handled the sessions himself—one of the few things he did that felt like care, even if the rest of him was all edges and strategy.

I pushed the thoughts aside and turned my attention back to Marigold. She was… beautiful. The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you. Long honey-blonde hair, soft skin, curves that drew the eye before you could stop it. My gaze lingered. Too long. Heat flickered low in my spine—sharp, unexpected. I looked away.

Wisp’s tail flicked once, slow and deliberate. She’d felt the shift in me. Of course she had.

Beauty didn’t matter here. Not at Wickem. Not with her name. Not with where she came from.

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