Page 6 of Darkbirch Academy

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My “particular talents” usually mean someone needs killing, information needs extracting, or something valuable needs stealing. The Salem family has served as the coven’s shadow hands for generations. Of my generation, my brother and cousins typically handle espionage, reconnaissance, and targeted sabotage missions—outside of emergency duty call—while I take the ones requiring a certain creative brutality.

My twenty-year-old sister Brynn, on the other hand… she’s still a first-year, and honestly, I don’t know how she ended up in this bloodline. She treats the library like a sanctuary and every mission like a personal attack. But Darkbirch doesn’t leave much room for softness. There’s a reason many just call it Darkbitch.

“You’ve identified a threat,” Corvin goes on, his voice dropping lower, “apparently unlike any we’ve encountered before.”

“What do you think this is?” I ask.

I notice Director Reinhardt flipping through a file acrossthe table. It contains images of my sick brother in his infirmary bed and apparently his full medical record.

“We prefer not to speculate at this point,” Corvin replies. “We need intel and evidence. But we can say your brother’s condition is?—”

“Unprecedented,” Warden Blythe finishes for him, her voice cracking like autumn leaves. “It appears this ‘Mazrov’ doesn’t just damage the body. He damages the aura itself.”

Something cold unfurls in my stomach. “But how?” I ask. I know our auras—our magical essence—can be temporarily drained or blocked, but actual damage? That’s supposed to be impossible.

Corvin runs a hand through his graying hair. “We don’t know. According to your mother’s report, your brother described a sensation of… burning, deep within his core. Like his magic was being… burned away. If that’s the case and he was subjected to whatever Mazrov did for longer, it’s logical to assume it could cause complete aural collapse. Full disintegration of magical essence.”

“We’ve never seen anything like this,” says Elder Farrow from the far end of the table, speaking for the first time. His voice, despite his advanced age, remains clear and cutting. “Not in all our recorded history.”

“And do you think this... Mazrov... is a clearblood?” I ask, frowning deeply.

“Again, we can only speculate,” Corvin replies. “But whatever he is, he’s evidently their development. A weapon in creation.”

Of course. The clearbloods would be the ones to develop something so fundamentally against the natural order. They’ve always feared our connection to death and bloodmagic, considering it an abomination while conveniently ignoring the atrocities their own “immaculate” magic has committed.

“So what’s the plan?” I ask, already suspecting the answer. “Capture? Interrogation?”

Corvin and Elder Farrow exchange a glance, and I know immediately that I’m right about my role here.

“Elimination,” Corvin states flatly. “Mazrov’s ability to damage darkbloods’ auras is a threat to our very existence. We cannot allow such a weapon to remain in clearblood hands.”

I lean back in my chair. “And you need me to get close enough to kill him.”

“Precisely,” Corvin nods. “You will infiltrate Heathborne as a transfer student.”

I can’t help the short, sharp laugh that escapes me. “A transfer student? I’m a senior, Corvin.”

“Heathborne Academy accepts advanced practitioners up to age twenty-five,” Director Reinhardt interjects. “Your cover will be as a specialized researcher in protective enchantments seeking to complete your education under their faculty.”

I tap the table with one black-lacquered nail. “And once I’m inside?”

“You will identify Mazrov’s true identity, learn everything you can about this aura-damaging capability, and then eliminate him before he can be deployed against us,” Corvin says.

The other council members nod in solemn agreement. The gravity of what they’re asking settles over me like a cloak. This isn’t just another mission—this is the most dangerous assignment I’ve ever undertaken. If this Mazrov can permanently damage darkbloods’ auras, he could render our entire coven powerless.

“What about my own magical signature?” I ask. “They’ll have detection systems for identifying darkbloods.”

Corvin gestures to Elder Reed, our resident specialist in concealments and disguises. The old woman pulls a small wooden box from beneath the table and slides it toward me.

“Inside is a supply of silver tablets,” she explains, her voice soft but clear. “Take one each day of the week, plus two to help your body acclimate to them before you arrive. They will temporarily rewrite your magical signature to appear as a clearblood. The effect lasts approximately twenty-four hours per tablet.”

I open the box cautiously. The tablets gleam with an unnatural brightness, and I can feel the complex magic radiating from them.

“There are... side effects,” Elder Reed adds, almost apologetically. “You will experience a moderate dampening of your natural abilities, which will also have some impact on your responsiveness to tablets and potions. Your connection to spirits will be nearly severed while under the influence of the tablets.”

The last one is a serious disadvantage. A significant portion of my war chest is my ability to call upon spirits, particularly my grandmother. Without that connection, I’ll be operating at maybe sixty percent of my capacity.

“So I’ll be walking into the stronghold of our enemies, with reduced powers, to assassinate someone who can permanently destroy what magic I’ll have left,” I summarize, not bothering to keep the dry sarcasm from my voice. “Sounds delightful.”

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