Page 19 of Heir of Shadows

“It’s a lot,” Lucas said.

With a chuckle, I nodded. It was nice to have them voicing similar things to what I was feeling, although at least they’d known that Wickem existed.

A student a few rows ahead glanced back, eyes narrowing, before whispering something to their friend. I kept my head high, but the weight of their stares pressed down on me. So it wasn’t just the heirs who had a problem with me. Great.

My gaze was drawn to Raven and Lucas’ dead things playing with each other, the beetle and bird engaged in an impromptu game of chase while the mouse that had been following me watched with interest. At least they seemed to have control over their power—their dead things stayed small and singular, while I had to constantly fight to keep mine from multiplying.

“So,” Lucas asked, pulling out a course catalog thick enough to stun a horse, “which magical prep school? I was at Hawthorn in London—a bit stuffy but their necromancy program is unparalleled.”

“Riverside Academy,” Raven chimed in. “Though my parents almost sent me to Hawthorn too. Their research into theoretical applications of death magic is groundbreaking.”

They both looked at me.

“Um, a Sprayberry public in Albany?” I offered. Their blank looks made my cheeks burn. “It’s… not a magical school. Just regular public high school.”

“Wait.” Raven’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Are youtheShadow Heir?”

I nodded, bracing myself to be mocked.

But instead, Raven grinned and said, “That’s awesome. No wonder your power feels so strong—royal bloodlines usually are. Must be wild trying to handle all that without training though.”

Before I could respond, Lucas pointed toward the stage. “Look, President Sprig is about to speak.”

We all turned obediently to watch the stern looking man who took the stage. He was stocky, with close-cut black curls on his head, and his whole being radiated natural authority.

He introduced himself, and his voice carried effortlessly as he welcomed us and explained Wickem Academy’s dual track system—general magical theory for all students, plus specialized studies in our chosen disciplines. It all sounded so normal, like a regular college—but with magic.

After President Sprig finished up his speech and stepped down, Ms. Wallace appeared at my elbow again and urged me to follow her. “You can come back to your friends in a minute, Ms. Grimley.”

I winced at the name, but I expected I would need to get used to it. After all, Grimley had been my father’s name and that’s who I was to them in this place—a Grimley, a traitor’s daughter.

We waited at the back of the room, and a few minutes later, President Sprig joined us.

“Ms. Grimley,” he said, offering his hand.

I had a sudden urge to flee, but I was an heir and a necromancer—even though I’d discovered it in the last twenty-four hours. Meeting important people had suddenly become part of my everyday life. So I ignored the fluttery feeling in my chest, met the president’s eyes and shook his hand. Despite his formal demeanor, his face seemed unexpectedly kind. I was grateful for it.

“Given your background,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “we’ll need to arrange some catch-up coursework alongside your regular freshman load.”

I nodded. I’d expected as much, especially after hearing that Raven and Lucas had attended magical high schools. “I’ll work hard.”

The president smiled. “Ms. Wallace has helped design an accelerated program to bridge the gap.”

“We’ll get you up to speed,” Ms. Wallace added. “I’ve worked with students transitioning from non-magical backgrounds before. You’re not alone in this.”

“Really?” I asked. The idea that there might be others like me brought a small sense of relief.

The president nodded. “Ms. Wallace will help you with the details.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He headed off in the direction of the administrative offices.

Ms. Wallace turned to me. She lifted up a small, leatherbound book that hummed with magic. After flipping through it, she pointed to a page, “Here’s your revised schedule, including some remedial classes that start this week, and we can look into getting you some peer tutoring.”

“Are the remedial classes covered by my scholarship?”

“Your father’s estate covers everything, including spending money. Here,” Ms. Wallace said, pressing a silver credit card into my hand. It thrummed with contained power—I was still amazed at how much I could sense from everyone and everything.

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