All Chapters of Veil of Secrets: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

They called me in the morning. A folded note slid under my door overnight. The seal of Nerezza House and nothing more. No signature. No message. But I’ve never been one to question House authorities. Her door was ajar when I arrived. Candlelight danced behind glass despite the morning sun, wisps of myrrh choking the corridor outside like a damn warning. Professor Batista sat at her desk, robes pristine, spine ramrod straight. She hooked her claws around the edge of her seat and smirked at me. Hair drawn back into a knot that gleamed like polished obsidian. Black eyes tracking my movements with a languid grace that sent shivers down my spine. “Evelina.” Smooth as silk. Civility dripping from every syllable. “I appreciate you coming straight away.” I bowed my head and smiled politely. “Of course, Professor. You called me here to—?” “It’s merely a formality check-in.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Standard House business. Ensuring your standards remain satisfactory.” I

Two days later. I’d barely slept. Every tremor along the floor, at every shift of broken air, mad me I twitch, half-expecting the world to end. I told myself she would have announced herself. That someone like Maelin Lockspire didn’t just waltz into places. I was mistaken. She didn’t come storming in. No instead, she arrived at Obscura like she belonged. Flowing velvet midnight trimmed with silver runes, too methodical to be anything more than practical, and she seemed less witch than wraith. Radiant. Not good-looking. Not ugly. Just…otherworldly. Pupil-less eyes, the color of forged iron. Unchanged by drought or downpour. I knew she was near before I saw her. Like magic folded around itself. Condensed. Closed. Compact. Like Obscura ceased breathing the second she stepped within its wards. Headmaster Arx claimed it was simply diplomatic procedure. Upholding tradition and outside alliances. Greeted her with as much rigid formality and empty flattery as she let him. But profe

No knock, no dorm-wide alert. Just a scrolled missive, sealed and taped to every door of every room in Nerezza House, emblazoned with Headmaster Arx’s crest and a detection rune folded into the paper, shimmering softly until it was broken. Random Magical Interference Audits. Sterile. Impersonal. Headmaster Arx’s attempts at distancing never failed to suck all the warmth out of a sentence. I slit the seal open against my thumbnail and scanned the contents. Routine precautionary measure. Official inspection. Intended to measure the aura containment levels of all vampiric students currently housed in dormitories. Maelin hadn’t bothered addressing the scroll to me personally, but I recognized her craftline in every flourish. Tight. Precise. Sharp. I had fifteen minutes until they came. As soon as I closed the door behind me, something shifted in the air. Didn’t feel magical, not like a warding frequency or containment spell. It felt…watched. As if the room knew someone wa

I took three steps outside the lecture hall before I knew she was behind me. Professor Pamela Batista moved in silence, sewn silk. Quiet and graceful and always in precisely where she shouldn’t be. She didn’t have to say my name. Just stepping behind me was invitation enough. I paused before we bumped into each other and gripped my satchel tighter. Forced my expression into something inert. “Evelina.” Her voice slid through the space between us, syllables buttery smooth over an edged blade. “Mind if I walk with you?” She wasn’t asking permission. I straightened my grip and nodded. “Yes, of course, Professor.” She aligned herself to my left, each step quiet despite the marble floors. Two girls from second-year Nerezza raised their eyes from a study table, only to quickly duck their heads back down. No one stopped and talked when Batista wanted to walk and talk. No one ever stopped. “I’ve noticed some irregularities,” she hummed conversationally, concern half-hearted and not

Maelin Lockspire commanded the stage of the lecture hall as if she were its queen. No. Queen didn’t cut it. She inherited places like this. Talked like she was born to lecture from its podiums and walk its halls. Her smile was polite as she spoke, calm, regal. Her Thornveil robes flowed with subtle charmwork, mostly golds and blacks threaded with silver. Safety-infused status. And when she gestured, her wand movements were smooth, intentional. Nothing sloppy or frivolous about her magic. I sat three rows back, knuckles white on my armrests. She wasn’t teaching. No one but her was teaching. This supposed “lesson” on advanced wards and weaving theory was a front. Smoke and mirrors. Intimidation. Everyone knew it. Maelin waved her hand at the floating sigil above the projector, tracing the complex symbols of containment theory with carelessness, as if she were making doodles in the air. Casual. Harmless. “Of course,” she said lightly, “we all know even the simplest spells can ca