“Hold up.” Ruby throws out her hand. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah. My parents are the kind of people who are convinced vampirism is a curable disease.” I roll my eyes. “For some reason, the binding spell didn’t stop me from being able to see ghosts. Can all witches communicate with the dead?”
“With magic? Yes. But not all of us are sensitive to spirits. And since I have the feeling you’re going to ask, no, not all people who can see the dead are witches. Some people are just more in tune with that aspect of existence.”
“This is all so interesting. I thought I was just a medium and even had this hokey-ass job working as one. Except I freaked everyone out when I was actually able to communicate with their lost loved ones.” I raise my eyebrows and we both laugh. “Even though ghost hunting shows are popular, and people ghost hunt for fun, my parents still thought I was making it up for attention.” I shrug. “I’m sure if my aunt actually did magic then they’d believe her. Or, ya know, conjuring fire in my hand would have been convincing.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
We continue down the hall and I don’t realize my pace is slowing as I take it all in. Portraits hang on the wall, showcasing different graduating classes through the years. There’s a sconce on the wall every ten feet or so, lighting the otherwise dark hall with flickering candlelight. The architecture is nineteenth-century gothic, and it’s perfect.
There’s a small corridor at the end of the hall, with a large couch and several lounge chairs positioned around a fireplace. A few teenage students are in there, talking and laughing with books open in front of them.
“Hi, Professor Darrows,” a girl says.
“Good evening, Misty,” Ruby says back. “Studying for your exam tomorrow? All three of you should.”
I look down at Hunter, eyes wide. Is this real life? As much as I’ve tried to let my anger go and remind myself that I can’t change the past, I’m getting pissed knowing that Aunt Estelle took this from me. Letting out a slow breath, I chant the annoying it is what it is mantra in my head.
We turn a corner, go up some stairs, and keep walking until we get to a set of double doors. One is cracked open, and Ruby knocks, waits a beat, and then pushes the door open enough for us to come in. Nothing up here is familiar other than the smell of incense. The room is large, looking more like a sitting room than an office. The worn wood floor is covered with a large dark purple rug, and a dark gray couch faces a fireplace. The overall feel here is much more modern than the little lounge the students were hanging out in, but there’s no mistaking the feeling of magic in the air.
“Good evening, High Priestess,” Ruby says with a curt nod and steps to the side, then I see her—the pretty woman with brown eyes and black hair from my memories. I get a little emotional when I see her, and it hits me all at once. This is the first real validation that proves I was here, in this school, and that these random bits and pieces of memory coming back to me are, without a doubt, real.
“Hello, Ruby.” The High Priestess smiles warmly, shifting her gaze to me. “And Anora.”
“H-hi,” I say and then look at Ruby. “Am I supposed to bow or something?”
The High Priestess laughs and waves her hand in the air. “Goodness, no. While I know the importance of sticking with tradition, you’ll find I’m not one for formalities. Call me Tabatha. Please, sit.”
I have a mini mental panic attack as I follow Ruby around to the couch, wondering where to sit. If I sit on the couch, I’ll be next to someone, and being that close and thinking about keeping eye contact is giving me an unnecessary amount of anxiety. I’m ridiculous, I know.
“I have to say, you look so much like your aunt,” Tabatha says, and she and Ruby both sit on the couch, thankfully, and I take an armchair. Hunter sits next to me, and I run my hand over his head.
“I’ve just discovered that.” My lips curve into a smile. “No one else in the family has red hair.”
Tabatha smiles but then shakes her head, frowning. “And I must apologize, Anora. Had I known what your aunt was planning…” She trails off and lets out a breath. “She didn’t want you to attend Grim Gate, and I tried talking her out of that. She insisted that you were to be raised as a non, living with your parents in New York. I wasn’t the High Priestess of the coven at the time, so there wouldn’t have been much I could do. Ultimately, the decision to send you to Grim Gate would have come down to your parents.”