Through gaps in the wreckage, Vesper glimpsed the mages advancing. Their movements were fluid and unnaturally smooth. Their fingers wove intricate patterns in the air, each gesture trailing shadows that made her temples ache.

  “We need to move,” Rafe hissed, but another blast forced them lower.

  The air crackled with building power. Vesper felt it like static against her skin, saw the way it distorted the surrounding space. But there was something else—a dissonant hum beneath the magic that set her nerves on edge.

  Without thinking, she reached out toward that discord. Her power flowed instinctively, disrupting the intricate weave of the nearest mage’s spell. His magic sputtered and died, surprise flickering across his face.

  “This way!” Rafe pulled her up, guiding her through the chaos of toppled displays and scattered merchandise.

  Vesper’s disruption bought them precious seconds. They darted between stalls, weaving through the market’s maze-like pathways as more spells shattered the air behind them. She tried to reach out again, but couldn’t focus.

  Dark energy carved furrows in walls and shattered windows. The mages moved with terrifying coordination, cutting off escape routes and herding them deeper into the market’s twisting lanes.

  The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood echoed behind them as more spells tore through vendor stalls.

  “Down!” Rafe yanked her behind a display of hanging charms. The air crackled where they’d stood moments before.

  Vesper grabbed the display rack and heaved it backwards. Hundreds of crystals and trinkets crashed across the cobblestones, forcing their pursuers to stumble. Her fingers tingled with that same discordant energy, and several of the fallen charms sparked with uncontrolled magic, sending up clouds of multicoloured smoke.

  “Through here!” Rafe pressed his palm against a shop wall. The bricks rippled like water, revealing a narrow passage. They dived through just as another blast of dark energy scorched the space behind them.

  The passage spat them out into a bustling intersection. Shoppers scattered as Vesper and Rafe burst through their midst. A mage appeared at the corner, fingers weaving a complex pattern. Vesper seized a floating tray of potion bottles from a nearby stall and hurled it at him. The vessels exploded in a cascade of fizzing liquid, forcing him back.

  They darted through the door of a cramped antiquities shop, startling the elderly proprietor. “Sorry!” Vesper called as they vaulted over the counter and through the curtained backroom. She knocked over a stack of boxes behind them, buying precious seconds.

  The back door opened onto another alley. Rafe grabbed her hand, pulling her through the tight space between buildings. The walls pressed close on either side, magical signs and lanterns casting strange shadows. Vesper’s shoulder clipped a protruding pipe, but she kept running.

  “There’s too many,” Rafe panted as they emerged onto another street. “We need to break their formation.”

  A portal flickered to life ahead—one of the mages cutting off their escape. Rafe spun them down a side passage instead, weaving between market-goers who pressed against walls to let them pass.

  They burst into a crowded intersection, lanterns swaying overhead as shoppers scattered. Stalls lined every corner, their wares a riot of colour and movement. Vesper’s lungs burned as she skidded to a halt beside Rafe. Dark-coated figures emerged from three different streets, their hands already weaving spells.

  “We’re trapped,” she gasped, spinning to find another escape route. But more mages blocked the fourth street, their magic crackling like static in the air.

  Her gaze caught on a merchant’s cart piled high with ornate carpets, suspended by ropes from an overhead beam. The daggers Rafe had bought her pressed against her sides, and an idea sparked.

  Without hesitation, Vesper yanked both blades free. The nearest mage raised his hands, dark energy gathering between his fingers. She lunged, narrowly avoiding the spell as it scorched the cobblestones, and slashed through the first rope holding the cart.

  The structure groaned. Another spell whizzed past her ear as she dived for the second rope. Her blade bit through the fibres just as a third blast of magic struck where she’d been standing.

  The cart tilted. Heavy rolls of carpet cascaded down, catching three mages in an avalanche of thick fabric. Their spells went wild, shooting harmlessly into the air as they struggled against the weight.

  “Now!” Rafe grabbed Vesper’s arm, dragging her toward a narrow gap between two stalls. They squeezed through, knocking over displays of crystals and herbs. Behind them, she heard cursing and the sound of bodies struggling against tangled carpet.

  A shimmer of magic caught her eye—a portal swirling behind a fortune teller’s booth. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He seized her hand and they dived through together, the portal’s energy tingling across her skin as it swallowed them whole.

  Vesper gasped as they emerged onto a quiet street. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself against a brick wall, chest heaving. The cobblestones here were slick with recent rain, nothing like the dry marketplace they’d fled.

  Her bag felt impossibly heavy, the grimoire’s presence a constant reminder of why those mages had attacked. She pressed a hand to her side, fingers brushing the hilts of her new daggers—Rafe had been right about needing protection that wasn’t magic. There hadn’t been time to think about spells or shields back there.

  “Ash,” she gasped between breaths. “Will he be⁠—”

  “He’s got more protection on that shop than most banks,” Rafe said, scanning the empty street. “Wards, passed down through his family. He’ll be fine.”

  Vesper slumped against the wall, letting her head fall back against the damp brick. Her hands trembled as the adrenaline began to fade. “That’s twice now we’ve been attacked in the open. First shadows, now mages.”

  “At least it wasn’t both at once.”

  “Don’t joke.” She clutched her bag closer, feeling the grimoire’s warmth through the fabric. “Is this what it’s going to be like? The entire magical world hunting me down?”

  Rafe’s expression softened. He stepped closer, blocking the wind that whipped through the alley. “Not the entire magical world. Just the dangerous parts.”

  “Oh, that’s so much better.” Vesper closed her eyes, exhaustion seeping into her bones. The quiet of the alley felt precarious after the chaos they’d escaped, like the calm before another storm.

  “We should move. We’re exposed here.”

  Vesper nodded, but didn’t open her eyes. Just a moment longer to breathe. What had just happened was worlds away from the quiet of the London Historical Library. Running through Nightreach’s version of a shopping centre, slashing at ropes with daggers, using her Resonant abilities without any training…and the Concordat’s second trial looming.

  The grimoire pulsed against her hip, its mysteries still locked away despite everything she’d risked for it.

  “We have to report this to the Concordat,” Rafe said.

  Vesper’s eyes flew open. “Why? They’ll just ask questions.”

  “You’re undergoing the trials. Technically, you’re under their protection.”

  Vesper pushed off from the wall, her legs still unsteady. “The Concordat’s already suspicious of me. If Marina finds out about this⁠—”

  “Marina already wants you gone,” Rafe said. “But Beatrice needs to know someone’s targeting a trial candidate. It’s against the law.”

  The wind carried the distant sounds of the Bizarre—shouts and chaos from their escape still echoing through Nightreach’s twisted streets. Vesper touched the crystal pendant at her throat, remembering how they’d bought it mere hours ago. Everything had seemed exciting then, shopping for magical supplies like picking up groceries.

  “Fine.” She straightened her shoulders, ignoring the ache in her muscles. “But they can’t know about the grimoire or the R-word. Not yet. I want to know exactly what we’re telling them before we walk into Thornhallow.”

  “Agreed.” Rafe glanced down the street. “Those mages knew what they were doing.”

  “They knew where to find us.” The grimoire seemed happy enough, buzzing in her bag despite the chaos it had caused. “Someone must have seen us entering Ash’s shop.”

  “Or they were already watching it.” Rafe’s expression darkened. “Ash deals in rare magical texts. If someone’s hunting grimoires, then it’s the obvious place to watch.”

  “They’d keep an eye on him.” It was stupid to go there, but she understood why Rafe had suggested it. Without Ash’s help, the grimoire would remain a mystery, despite being a significant clue to the real story. “If we tell the Concordat, will they keep the mages off our tail?”

  Rafe nodded. “At least until the trials are over. And if you pass…as a member, you’ll have all the power of the witches behind you. The mages won’t dare challenge the Concordat openly.”

  “Then they’ll know what I am.” Vesper frowned. That meant she’d be at the mercy of their own internal power struggles, but the alternative was the entirety of Nightreach gunning for her.

  “We tell the Concordat as much of the truth as possible,” Rafe murmured. “The best secrets are kept in the open, but we can’t go up against mages and witches.” He sighed, angling himself out of the street as a few raindrops began to fall. “We need help.”

  “Manipulate help, you mean.”

  Rafe picked up the pendant that hung around her neck, his gaze meeting hers. “Where else are we going to go? On our own, we’re exposed.”

  Vesper’s lips thinned. “Then we better go to Thornhallow before those mages pick up our trail.”

  Chapter 9

  Vesper’s boots slid on polished marble as she and Rafe shoved open the towering oak doors of Thornhallow’s council chamber. The room fell silent. Two dozen witches in formal robes turned from their positions around a massive circular table, their faces a mix of shock and outrage at the interruption.

  The scent of singed fabric clung to Vesper’s clothes, and a tear in her sleeve revealed an angry red welt where her arm had banged against a drainpipe. Rafe’s coat bore similar battle scars, magical burns having eaten through the leather.

  High Witch Beatrice rose from her ornate chair, silver hair gleaming in the light from floating crystal orbs overhead. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Marina Sinclair’s lips curled into a sneer. “Really, such dramatics. Bursting in like common⁠—”

  “We were attacked.” Vesper’s voice carried across the chamber, stronger than she felt. Her hands still trembled from the fight, but she forced them still at her sides. “In the Bizarre. We were preparing for the second trial and they hunted us.”

  Whispers rippled through the assembled witches. Marina’s expression shifted from disdain to sharp interest.

  “Hunting? Who?” Beatrice’s gaze flicked between Vesper and Rafe. “Explain.”

  “Mages were waiting for us,” Rafe explained. “We came out of a shop and they began following us, but it turned into an open attack. They attempted to herd us, likely in order to capture.”

  Vesper’s skin prickled under the weight of so many stares. “They were willing to attack us in broad daylight, in the middle of the Bizarre.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Several witches exchanged worried glances.

  Vesper caught Marina’s swift movements at the edge of her vision. The witch’s dark head bent close to her neighbours, lips moving in urgent whispers that spread like ripples through the assembled council members. Whatever Marina was saying, she wanted it heard before they finished their own account.

  “The attack was coordinated,” Rafe went on, his boots echoing against the marble. “At least six mages working in pairs. They knew exactly where we’d be.”

  Vesper’s fingers brushed the crystal pendant at her throat. She felt oddly calm for just having been attacked by highly trained mages. Disrupting their spells had been easy, but had likely exposed her…and next time, they’d be prepared.

  “And this isn’t the first time we’ve been watched,” Rafe continued, his voice steady but pointed. “When I brought Vesper through the Fold, the Fold Hunters were agitated and attacked us. Then we were followed the day we came to see you.”

  Truth with a few omissions, Vesper thought. Clever.

  The council chamber grew still. Several witches who had been whispering with Marina now turned their full attention to Rafe.

  “These weren’t random encounters,” he said. “Someone is tracking our movements. The ambush today was just their first open move.”

  Vesper noticed how carefully he laid out the pattern—each incident building on the last, painting a picture of deliberate surveillance rather than chance meetings. The earlier dismissive expressions among the council members began to shift toward concern.

  Marina’s lips pressed into a thin line as she failed to catch the eye of a witch who had been eagerly listening to her moments before. Whatever she’d tried to seed in the council’s minds before their testimony, Rafe’s explanation was unravelling it.

  Vesper watched Beatrice’s face transform. The High Witch’s usual composed demeanour cracked, her blue eyes blazing with an inner fire that made the crystal orbs overhead flare brighter. Power rolled off her in waves that set Vesper on edge.

  “An attack.” Beatrice’s voice cut through the chamber like steel on stone. “On a trial candidate. In our city.”

  The assembled witches shifted in their seats. Even Marina’s smug expression faltered as Beatrice’s fury filled the room.

  “Let me be clear.” Beatrice’s hands pressed against the polished wood of the council table. Beneath her palms, frost crystals spread across the surface. “This is not merely an assault on an individual. This is a direct challenge to the authority of the Luminous Concordat itself.”

  The temperature plummeted. Vesper’s breath fogged in the air as Beatrice’s magic manifested her rage. The High Witch’s silver hair lifted slightly, moved by an unseen current of power.

  “For centuries, we have maintained order in Nightreach. The trials are sacred—a tradition that ensures our future. Any who dare interfere with this process strike at the very foundation of our governance.”

  Beatrice’s words carried such weight that several council members bowed their heads. Even those who had seemed dismissive of Vesper’s presence now looked troubled. The High Witch’s declaration had transformed a simple attack into an act of sedition.

  Marina rose from her seat, dark robes flowing like liquid shadow. The witch’s voice carried through the chamber. “High Witch Beatrice, if I may.” Her perfectly manicured fingers traced patterns at her side as she spoke. “We must consider all possibilities before jumping to such grave conclusions.”

  Vesper blinked as Marina’s words seemed to shimmer in the air. Several council members leaned forward, their eyes taking on a glazed quality.

  “You say six mages attacked you.” Marina’s gaze fixed on Rafe. “Yet in the chaos of the Bizarre, with its crowds and confusion, how certain can you be of what you saw? Perhaps these were common thieves using cheap enchantments.”

  The room’s atmosphere shifted. Vesper felt it—a subtle magical current underlying Marina’s words, weaving doubt through the air like perfume. Three witches near Marina nodded slowly.

  “And the timing seems peculiar.” Marina’s fingers continued their delicate dance. “You claim to have been followed since arriving in Nightreach, yet only now bring this to our attention? After weeks of supposed surveillance?”

  More heads nodded. Vesper gritted her teeth as she watched Marina’s influence spread through the chamber. The witch’s magic was subtle—not direct manipulation, but rather a gossamer web that made her words sound perfectly reasonable, naturally persuasive.

  “Perhaps,” Marina continued, her voice practically dripping false concern, “in your admirable desire to protect our candidate, Mr. Thorne, you’ve connected unrelated incidents into a pattern that doesn’t truly exist?”

  Vesper’s hands clenched at her sides as she watched several council members who’d been outraged moments ago now looking thoughtful, even sceptical. Marina’s enchantment worked its way through the room like poison in a wine glass—invisible but potent.

  The chamber erupted into chaos, voices rising and falling like waves. Vesper watched alliances form and fracture in real time as the witches took sides. To her left, an elderly witch in midnight blue robes jabbed her finger at a younger counterpart, face flushed with anger as she demanded immediate action. Three seats down, a cluster of witches huddled together, their whispers sharp and urgent.

  Ember rose from her seat at the far end of the chamber, her amber eyes bright with conviction. “The attack patterns are clear. First shadows in the Fold, then watchers in the streets, now direct assault? After what happened to our sister Selene, this escalation cannot be ignored. We must protect our own.”

  Several witches nodded in agreement, but others shook their heads. A witch with steel-grey hair stood, her voice cutting through the din. “We need proper investigation before committing resources. What proof do we have beyond their word?”

  “Go to the Bizarre and see for yourself,” Rafe snapped. “Ask the shopkeepers what they saw. See the destruction left behind.”

  Vesper’s skin prickled as she observed the shifting dynamics. Those who had seemed supportive moments ago now wavered, Marina’s enchanted words having done their work. The chamber had split into clear factions—those calling for immediate protection versus those demanding caution and proof.

  High Witch Beatrice’s voice cracked through the chamber like thunder. “Enough.”

  The room fell silent. Beatrice’s power rippled through the air, demanding attention.

  “The wards around Thornhallow will be strengthened. Additional guards will patrol the grounds. Whether this threat is as dire as reported or merely coincidence, we will not risk the safety of any trial candidate.”