“It’s…beautiful,” Vesper murmured.

  “It’s gaudy and completely overdone,” Rafe declared.

  She didn’t think so. He was used to seeing stuff like this, but this world was only just opening to her and it was as exciting as it was dangerous.

  As they followed the path across the magenta heath, Vesper noticed a faint shimmer in the air surrounding the manor. Wards, she realised, remembering Rafe’s earlier explanation. Ancient magic pulsed around the building, an invisible barrier that kept the Concordat’s secrets safe from prying eyes.

  She was grateful for Rafe’s presence beside her as they passed through the gates and approached the entrance. His steady stride and nonchalant demeanour helped soothe the butterflies in her stomach.

  “Ready?” Rafe asked, pausing at the foot of the sweeping stone steps.

  “We were followed,” she replied, meeting his gaze.

  His eyes glimmered. “Which means we’re going to have to be clever about what we reveal to the Concordat. Are you up for it?”

  Vesper’s lips thinned. She had to stop acting like a deer caught in the headlights and start using her brain—this world was dangerous. Someone wanted Resonants and didn’t care who they killed to get to one. They’d shatter reality to get to what they wanted, and she was standing in the centre of the maelstrom.

  The grand double doors towered over her, another magical threshold waiting to be crossed…for better or worse.

  Get a grip, Vesper, she thought. It was time to pull herself together and learn how to fight. She could do this…for Selene. There was no other option.

  She turned to Rafe and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 2

  “Vesper.”

  Rafe’s hand on Vesper’s arm stopped her from reaching for the door.

  “What?”

  “I’ll follow your lead in there, but I won’t hesitate to step in if things go sideways.”

  She hesitated, not wanting to second guess her choice to come here now that she was literally at the door. “You’re saying this now?” Her brow furrowed. “Are you expecting things to go badly?”

  “No, it’s just…” Rafe looked at the door, his expression troubled. “Everyone has an agenda.”

  Vesper felt her heart soften. It felt like he was warning her about everyone, including himself. If she hadn’t read his journal, and learned about his quest to restore his fractured memories, then would she have picked up on the subtle warning? Perhaps not, but he was still right. Best not reveal too much about her predicament before she knew more about the Concordat.

  “Okay then,” she said. “Follow my lead…and save me from myself if I need it.”

  “I will.”

  Vesper took a deep breath, readying herself as she opened the heavy door and stepped over the threshold of Thornhallow Manor. The moment her foot touched the polished marble floor, a wave of energy rippled through her, like static electricity dancing across her skin. She shivered, glancing at Rafe to see if he felt it too, but if he did, he didn’t show it.

  “It’s…alive,” Vesper whispered.

  Rafe nodded. “The wards are ancient. They’re assessing you.”

  As if in response, a tendril of silvery light snaked down from the ceiling, curling around Vesper’s wrist. She gasped, fighting the urge to pull away. The light pulsed once, twice, then vanished.

  “What was that?” Vesper hissed, rubbing her wrist.

  “One of the Concordat’s tricks.” Rafe curled his lip. “Testing your threat level.”

  “Threat level?”

  “Meat suits.”

  Vesper snorted and looked up. The foyer stretched before them, impossibly vast for the building’s exterior dimensions. Ornate chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling that seemed to stretch into infinity, their crystals tinkling softly with no discernible breeze. Portraits adorned the walls, their subjects’ eyes following Vesper’s every move.

  Ornate tapestries adorned the walls, their threads shimmering with their own light. She blinked, realising the images were moving, scenes of magical battles and arcane rituals playing out in miniature.

  “Impossible,” she breathed, her gaze drawn to a nearby portrait.

  The subject, a stern-faced witch in elaborate robes, turned her painted head to observe Vesper. The witch’s lips moved, whispering something she couldn’t quite catch. Other portraits joined in, a soft murmur of painted voices filling the air.

  Vesper’s attention was pulled to the grand staircase dominating the far end of the foyer. It spiralled upwards, each step crafted from what looked like polished moonstone. The banister twisted like a living thing, carved wood flowing like water frozen in time.

  “It’s bigger on the inside,” she murmured, feeling foolish even as she said it.

  Rafe chuckled softly beside her. “Spatial manipulation. Standard stuff for a place like this.”

  Vesper nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The sheer weight of history and magical power pressed down on her. Artefacts lined the walls—wands, crystals, and objects she couldn’t begin to identify. Each one pulsed with its own energy, a crash of magic that made her skin tingle.

  As they moved further into the foyer, Vesper felt increasingly out of place. Her simple clothes and wide-eyed wonder marked her as an outsider. The manor seemed to know it too, the very air around her thick with an ancient, judging presence.

  “I don’t belong here,” Vesper whispered, more to herself than to Rafe.

  Before Rafe could reply, a figure appeared at the top of the grand staircase, their aura commanding attention without uttering a word. A tall woman descended, her silver hair woven into an intricate braid that seemed to shimmer with its own light. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Vesper, assessing her with centuries of wisdom.

  Vesper felt frozen to the spot by the woman’s penetrating gaze, the surrounding air crackling with an unseen energy, and she could have sworn she heard the faintest whisper of ancient incantations echoing through the foyer. As the woman drew closer, her midnight-blue robes rustled softly, revealing intricate silver embroidery that pulsed with a shimmering undertone.

  This was a woman who wasn’t to be messed with.

  “And who might you be?” The woman’s voice was soft yet carried effortlessly across the vast foyer.

  Vesper swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how small she was. “I’m Vesper Ainsley and this is Rafe…” She glanced at him.

  The woman’s lips curved into a warm smile, though her eyes remained cautious. “Rafe Thorne. It’s been some time.”

  Rafe inclined his head respectfully. “High Witch Beatrice.”

  “What brings you to our door?” Beatrice asked, her attention returning to Vesper. “The wards were rather cautious when you entered.”

  Vesper took a steadying breath, careful to keep her suspicions about being a Resonant to herself. And what happened in the Fold. “My friend Selene told me the Concordat might be able to help me learn magic,” she began, her voice stronger than she felt. “But…Selene died a few weeks ago. I was hoping her coven might know more about the circumstances.”

  Beatrice’s expression softened, a hint of sorrow touching her eyes. “Ah, Selene. Her loss is felt deeply here.”

  Vesper nodded, fighting back the lump in her throat. “Rafe is a trusted friend,” she added. “He helped me reach Nightreach safely. I didn’t know…” She lowered her gaze before looking back up at the High Witch again. “About magic or…any of it.”

  Beatrice’s gaze lingered on Rafe for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. “I see,” she said finally, turning back to Vesper. “Well, it seems we have much to discuss. If Selene sent you to us, then she must have seen something precious within you.”

  Vesper watched Beatrice carefully, trying to gauge the High Witch’s reaction to her story. The older woman’s face remained impassive, but her eyes held a glimmer of curiosity.

  “It always surprises me,” Beatrice murmured, her gaze never leaving Vesper’s face, “that there are those who live amongst the mundane world, unaware of their true nature.”

  Vesper shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of how little she truly knew about her own past. “I’m still trying to make sense of it all,” she admitted. “I was an orphan, which probably explains it.”

  Beatrice nodded, her expression softening slightly. “And Selene’s death? What can you tell me about that?”

  Vesper hesitated, remembering Rafe’s warning about agendas. She chose her words carefully. “The police ruled it a suicide. I don’t know much beyond that. It was all so sudden. I don’t…” She felt a lump forming in her throat and swallowed hard, pushing back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Beatrice’s piercing gaze seemed to bore into her, searching for something she couldn’t name. The High Witch’s eyes moved to Vesper’s bag but slid back up like she’d never looked at all. “I don’t believe she’d do something like that.”

  “I see,” Beatrice said after a long moment, her tone neutral. Vesper couldn’t tell if the High Witch believed her or not. The older woman’s face remained a mask, giving away nothing of her thoughts.

  Beatrice straightened, her robes shimmering as they moved. “Well, it seems we have much to discuss. If you’ll both follow me, we can speak more privately.”

  She turned, gesturing for Vesper and Rafe to accompany her. Vesper glanced at Rafe, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Taking a deep breath, Vesper fell into step behind Beatrice, her heart pounding as they ventured deeper into the heart of Thornhallow Manor.

  Vesper followed Beatrice through winding corridors, each turn revealing new wonders. Portraits whispered as they passed, and the very walls seemed to pulse with magic. Rafe walked silently beside her, his presence both reassuring and tense.

  “What did Selene tell you about us?” Beatrice asked as they walked.

  “Not much,” Vesper replied. “Only that you’re a coven of witches and she was a member.”

  “Well, the Luminous Concordat is far more than just a coven,” Beatrice went on, her voice echoing softly. “It serves as the governing body for magical affairs in Nightreach and beyond. We maintain the delicate balance between the magical and mundane worlds, ensuring our secrets remain hidden from those who would misuse or fear them.”

  As they walked, Vesper noticed other coven members in the halls. Some nodded respectfully to Beatrice, while others eyed Vesper and Rafe with open suspicion. The divisions were clear, even to her untrained eye.

  Beatrice seemed to sense her observation. “You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that our coven, like any organisation, has its factions. Marina Sinclair leads our more…traditional members. They believe in preserving our ways unchanged.”

  They turned a corner, and Vesper caught sight of a striking woman with sharp features and piercing eyes. The woman’s gaze lingered on Vesper, cold and calculating, before she disappeared down another corridor.

  “And you?” Vesper asked, her curiosity stirring.

  Beatrice’s lips curved into a small smile. “I lead not only the Concordat itself, but those who support a more progressive position. We believe in upholding our traditions while adapting to the changing world around us.”

  “What were Selene’s beliefs?” Vesper pressed, eager to learn more about her friend.

  “Selene believed in a more open approach,” Beatrice explained as they approached an ornate door. “She sought to make Nightreach safer by sharing knowledge, rather than hoarding it. To move our coven into the future, where we’re not beholden to the fears and power struggles of the past.”

  In other words, Selene wanted to clean up the streets and bring the factions together. Lofty goals a Resonant could surely help with, along with the power of the Echo Rafe said everyone seemed to be murmuring about.

  As Beatrice pushed open the door to reveal a grand meeting room, Vesper felt the weight of realisation settle on her shoulders. If Selene was right about her, that meant she was at the centre of the divide and the grimoire only amplified it.

  Vesper stepped into the room, her eyes widening at the sight of several witches seated around a large oval table. The air crackled with magical energy, making her skin prickle. She glanced at Rafe, noticing his usually confident demeanour had faltered slightly.

  Beatrice gestured towards a striking woman with sharp features and piercing eyes. “This is Marina Sinclair, leader of our traditional faction.” Marina’s gaze burned into Vesper, cold and calculating.

  Next, Beatrice introduced a woman with striking amber eyes and hair that seemed to shimmer like glowing sparks. “And this is Ember Vance, one of our most talented fire witches.”

  As Beatrice continued introducing the other witches, Vesper felt the weight of their scrutiny. She shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of how out of place she must seem. Rafe stood beside her, his posture tense, eyes darting between the assembled witches.

  Something’s not right, Vesper thought. There’s more going on here than Beatrice is letting on.

  Once the introductions were complete, Beatrice turned to address Vesper directly. “Now, Miss Ainsley, if you wish to gain admittance to the Concordat and earn our trust, you must complete three traditional trials of magical ability.”

  Vesper’s heart skipped a beat. “Trials?” This was the first she’d heard about any testing, and now she understood Rafe’s reaction. He hadn’t either. Did they suspect she had something to do with Selene’s death?

  Beatrice nodded solemnly. “These trials will verify your magical status as either witch or mage, assess your intentions, and determine your suitability of becoming a member of the Concordat.”

  As the implications of Beatrice’s words sank in, Vesper’s pulse quickened. This could be her chance to prove whether she was truly a Resonant, to uncover more about Selene’s work. But it could also lead her further into danger. If she was revealed as a Resonant, the entire Concordat would know.

  They wanted to know if they could trust her, but could she trust them?

  Vesper swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She glanced at Rafe, hoping for some reassurance, but his face was unreadable.

  The prospect of magical trials terrified her. What would she have to do? She hadn’t been able to summon any magic when she’d tried with Rafe, not without the grimoire. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could utter a word, a sharp voice cut through the room.

  “This is absurd!” Marina Sinclair rose from her seat, her eyes flashing with barely contained fury. “We cannot allow just anyone to participate in our sacred trials. Especially not some…outsider with questionable connections.” She flung a hand in Rafe’s direction. “After the disturbance in the Fold, we have enough to deal with.”

  Vesper flinched at the venom in Marina’s voice, but dread began to fill her heart at the mention of the Fold. The room erupted into murmurs and heated whispers, the other witches turning to each other with looks of concern and curiosity.

  Marina continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “Selene’s judgement was clearly compromised. Her…progressive views,” she spat the word like a curse, “may have clouded her perception. And look where it led her. An early grave in the mundane world.”

  Vesper’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. How dare this woman speak about Selene like that? She felt a surge of anger rising within her, threatening to spill over.

  Just as Vesper was about to retort, another voice cut through the chaos. “That’s enough, Marina.”

  All eyes turned to Ember Vance. The fire witch stood, her amber eyes gleaming with an inner light. “Our laws are clear on this matter. We cannot refuse anyone who wishes to undertake the trials, regardless of their magical affiliation or lack thereof.”

  Ember’s gaze swept the room, finally landing on Vesper. There was something in her eyes, a glimmer of…recognition? Understanding? Vesper couldn’t quite place it.

  “Selene believed in opening our doors to those with potential,” Ember continued, her voice steady and calm. “We owe it to her memory to at least give Miss Ainsley a chance.”

  As Ember spoke, Vesper noticed a subtle change in her demeanour. There was a knowing look in her eyes, a hint of something deeper. It was as if Ember was trying to communicate something without words, a silent acknowledgment of a shared secret. She knew something.

  Marina scowled. “And what about our own duties? The Fold⁠—“

  Beatrice held up a graceful hand, warning the witch to stop. “Will keep.”

  “If I may,” Vesper began, her voice steadier than she felt, “Selene mentioned that I might be a mage or a witch. She didn’t get the chance to explain further.” A pang of grief tightened her chest, but she pressed on. “Have any mages attempted these trials before?”

  The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. Vesper’s gaze darted between the assembled witches, noting their reactions. Marina’s lips curled into a sneer, while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. But it was Beatrice’s response that truly caught her attention.

  The High Witch hesitated, her usual composure faltering for just a moment. “Well,” Beatrice began, her tone carefully measured, “the trials are traditionally for witches, but⁠—”

  “Traditionally?” Vesper pressed, latching onto the word. “So it’s not unheard of for mages to participate?”

  Another weighted silence fell over the room. Vesper could almost feel the unspoken history pressing down on them all. She glanced at Rafe, noting the tension in his jaw.

  Beatrice opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Vesper caught sight of Ember. The fire witch was subtly shaking her head, her amber eyes wide with warning. The message was clear: Don’t push this further.

  Vesper’s suspicions flared. There was clearly more to this story than anyone was willing to say. But Ember’s silent caution gave her pause. Perhaps there was wisdom in treading carefully, at least for now.

  “I apologise if I’ve overstepped,” Vesper said, forcing a note of humility into her voice. “I’m just trying to understand where I might fit. It’s all new to me, so please forgive my ignorance.”