Page 40 of Fated for Flames

Evelyn

That night, when I trudged back to my dorm room, there was a package on my neatly made bed. My heart fluttered with anticipation as I approached it. The package was stamped with a human store’s logo.

Finally, the order I had placed had arrived.

Eagerly, I tore it open to reveal two items: a small surveillance camera and a hair dryer. In this world where magic was our lifeline, such mundane objects seemed oddly out of place. But without my magic to protect me or dry my hair in seconds, I had to resort to what humans did.

The surveillance camera came with an app. It wasn’t much compared to conjuring a protective spell around my room, but it was all I had now. After all, if another siphoning object found its way into my room, I wanted proof.

After setting up the camera and downloading the app onto my phone, I turned my attention to my desk.

It was time to dig deeper into the circumstances of my parents’ death.

The official version of events suggested it was merely a case of unfortunate circumstances, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They’d been returning from visiting friends, the journey cut short by the reckless actions of a drunk driver, resulting in a violent collision that claimed all their lives in an instant.

But had it been purely accidental?

My mother, with her unparalleled magical powers, should have been the prime candidate for succession, shouldn’t she?

Had she rejected the offer?

It did seem likely; she hadn’t been one for ruling. Her nature, with her affinity for plants, was too nurturing and too gentle to shoulder the burden of leadership. But back then, the Luminary Coven had still been small, a far cry from the formidable force it had become under Morgana’s iron-fisted rule, which had seen our numbers swell exponentially.

I scoured every news article clipping, reading and rereading the printed words until they blurred before my eyes. But there was not a hint, not a shred of evidence that suggested anything more.

I had to find answers.

As I sat in the silence of my room, my gaze fell on a worn, leather-bound book that had survived the test of time. It was a collection of stories and spells that my mother used to read to me as a child. A lump formed in my throat as I picked it up, the leather becoming warm under my touch. It was more than just a book; it was a treasure trove of memories, a tangible connection to my lost parents.

My mind drifted back to simpler, brighter days when I was a little girl nestled in my mother’s lap in front of the crackling fireplace. Her voice, soft and soothing, had woven tales of magicand adventure, her fingers tracing the delicate runes etched into the pages. In one of those cherished moments, she’d shared some of the truth of our lineage.

“The witches in our family are born with golden eyes, not merely as a mark of beauty but as a sign of immense power,” she had explained. “When you’re older, I’ll explain what that truly means. But until then, know this: one day, Evelyn, you will be the most powerful witch alive. Yet, with great power comes envy and danger. You must be careful—promise me you’ll be careful.”

These words resonated with me more now than ever. As I came into my magic, inheriting strength from generations of formidable witches, I understood her warning all too well. I had never boasted or bragged about my power. I was quiet and reserved, yet my power was the reason for my sacrifice. I hadn’t understood how much of a target I was until it was too late.

My heart ached with the memory, a poignant reminder of what I’d lost and what might have been. My parents’ teachings, their love, and their hopes for me were all I had left. The silence in my room now seemed deafening, their absence an open wound. But holding the book that was once my mother’s, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

They’d believed in me. It was time I believed in myself.

* * *

Luckily, just before bed, I received an email from Professor Wren. My request to access the private collection had been approved, but I was only allowed to visit on Saturday afternoons, meaning tomorrow!

The email further contained detailed instructions on how to navigate to the private collection, along with a rigid code of conduct that I was expected to adhere to without deviation. It explicitly stated that my access was strictly limited to the librarysection, with no wandering or “perusing” beyond that area. The usage of facilities such as the washroom was permittedonlyin the case of absolute necessity andonlyif it could be classified as an emergency. No food, no water, no friends, no music, and the list went on.

I couldn’t help but snort.

After a restless night filled with anticipation, I woke up to the sight of dawn’s first light peeking through the cracks of my drapes. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was an hour before Chad would show up.

Determined to use my time wisely, I dressed quickly and headed to the training grounds, sending Chad a quick text for him to join me there. The cool morning air was refreshing, whipping my hair around as I made my way across campus.

With Chad’s training routine fresh in my mind, I began a series of exercises. My muscles protested initially but soon warmed up to the exertion. A satisfying ache began to settle in as I pushed myself harder, determined to build my strength and stamina. When Chad showed up, I was already drenched in sweat.

A few hours later, dirty and exhausted, I made my way back to my dorm room. A quick shower washed away the grime and fatigue, replaced by a feeling of accomplishment and invigoration.

I spent the remainder of the morning immersed in potion making, my favorite pastime…not.

As the afternoon rolled in, so did an unexpected nervousness. My stomach twisted into knots as I packed a small bag with essentials.

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