The first time I saw her, she was standing under
the willow tree like she’d been waiting for me.
Rain dripped from the branches, and I pulled my
coat tighter, hurrying across the muddy quad.
"Miss Langley?" she said.
I stopped. "Yes?"
She smiled, eyes sharp, voice low. "
You're late
for class."
I glanced at the clock tower. "I'm not."
"Then you're exactly where you're
supposed to be
."
Who was this woman? She looked like a professor,
but no one had mentioned a Professor Crane in t
he history department.
I should’ve walked away.
But something in her voice held me there.
"You can see it, can't you?" she said.
"See what?"
"The wards."
I blinked. "What wards?"
She stepped closer, and the air shimmered.
Then I saw it. A faint glow outlining the campus
buildings, pulsing like a heartbeat.
I backed up. "What is this?"
She didn’t flinch. "You’re one of us, Miss Langl
ey. Whether you knew it or not."
One of us.
I hadn’t told anyone about the dreams. The ones
where I walked through the halls of Willowbrook
Hall before I ever arrived.
"You’re a witch," she said plainly.
I nearly laughed. "That’s not real."
"You made it rain in your dorm room last week, d
idn’t you? Just after arguing with your roommate
?"
I froze.
"Coincidence?" she asked.
I didn’t believe in coincidences.
And I didn’t believe in witches.
Until now.
Professor Crane turned and walked toward the old
stone building at the edge of campus.
I followed.
The door opened before she touched it.
Inside, the air smelled of books and burning her
bs.
"This is the Archive," she said. "
We keep the wa
rds alive. We protect the school. And now, we pr
otect the country too."
"Why?"
She looked at me like I’d asked the wrong questi
on.
"Because there’s a war on," she said.
"And not a
ll battles are fought with bullets."
I stared at the shelves lined with journals and
scrolls, some older than the college itself.
"You mean the war in Europe?"
She nodded. "There are forces at work beyond tan
ks and planes. Magic is real. And it’s being use
d."
I swallowed hard.
"By us?"
"And by them."
I didn’t want to ask who "they" were.
But I did anyway.
"Who?"
She handed me a book bound in cracked leather. "
Start reading."
The pages were filled with symbols I didn’t reco
gnize.
Then I saw a name. Langley.
"My family—"
"You come from a long line of witches who’ve gua
rded this land. You were meant to find your way
here."
I looked up. "Why now?"
She tilted her head. "Why not now? The world is
changing. We need you."
I didn’t feel like anyone’s salvation.
I felt like a girl who barely made it through ch
emistry lab.
But as I turned the pages, I saw names of studen
ts who’d gone off to war. Some came back. Some d
idn’t.
And some had helped in ways no one knew.
"You're training me?" I asked.
"If you're willing."
I thought about the glowing wards. The way the a
ir felt different around her.
"I don't even know how to begin."
"That’s the first step."
I stayed late that night, poring over the texts.
By the time I left, the campus was quiet, the st
ars sharp above.
She walked with me to the dorms.
"You’ll be safe," she said. "As
long as the ward
s hold."
I looked up at the windows.
"Do they ever fail?"
She paused.
"Yes," she said. "And when they
do, people disap
pear."
I didn’t ask who.
Not then.
But I would.
And I’d find the truth buried beneath the ivycov
ered walls of Willowbrook Hall.
Even if it changed everything I thought I knew.
