Cast in the glow of the setting sun and filled with all the students and faculty at once, this was when Solene could imagine the glory that the Big House must have been back when the Anouir family still lived in it. She could feel the magic inside all of the people within, pulsating and dancing in the joy of being near more magic.

Solene slipped into the crowd seamlessly and followed them to the ballroom on the second floor. Usually, meals were in the dining hall—but not on such a spectacular occasion as the first night of the school year.

The ballroom was filled with several smaller tables covered in white tablecloths and bouquets of lavender and hyacinth with light emanating from crystal balls that reminded Solene both of candles and bubbles of water.

She weaved her way through the other students until she managed to slip by Roxana's side.

"Ah, there you are, I was wondering where you'd gotten off to!" Roxana brightened when she turned to see her there. "Come on, Chevalier's sitting over there!" She stopped in her tracks.

Across the ballroom, there he was. The werewolf boy she saw on the beach.

Well, he wasn't just a werewolf if he was here—he had to have witching blood to attend the Anouir Institute.

He hadn't seen her yet. Instead, he was lurking by the walls, away from the other students. Instead, he was watching them with his arms folded over his chest in more of an approximation of a self-hug than a show of intimidation. He watched the other students with a wistful gaze of blue and brown—and yet he made no effort to join in.

Then his glance flicked towards her. She could feel it even across the room, and she turned away.

Still, when she could feel that he wasn't looking at her anymore, she found herself looking back at him. Which was a thought that made her cheeks feel hot. It was just that he was so interesting to look at, that was all. He had the blue and brown heterochromia that was common in werewolf, and a thick chunk of white in his hair, a few thinner streaks peppered in throughout the caramel brown, but white eyebrows as well. He also had a severe case of babyface, with the rosy freckled cheeks that made anyone look perpetually innocent.

He wore a band t-shirt, with an overly large flannel that masked his lithe figure, as well as jeans that bore dirt stains and holes over both the knees.

Again, all of these were technically typical for werewolves, not that Solene saw them often. They as a rule preferred not to live in the big cities like Ventura Sound or the Arcane Lights—merely to visit, and to places like the beach at that.

And yet there was something about the werewolf boy on the opposite side of the room that was so alluring. She just couldn't take her eyes off of him.

She nudged Roxana gently with her elbow and nodded in the direction of the werewolf boy. "Who's that?"

"Who?' Roxana frowned and squinted past the other fraternizing students. She then blinked, her doe-like golden eyes widening. "Oh, you mean my cousin! That's Dorian."

"You have a werewolf cousin?"

"Oh, yeah, I don't see him all that often, though." Roxana glanced about her and toyed with the golden locket dangling from her neck. "His father's on the Covenant's high council, though. He's often away for that, and he always takes Dorian with him. Unless of course, he's here at school."

"Really?" Well, that explained how Solene had never met him. It wasn't often that Roxana or Horus invited her to the Beltane mansion down in the Arcane Lights, but she'd been there enough that she'd met most of the Beltanes who were still recognized by the family at large.

"Yeah, Uncle Icarus is kind of weird." Roxana shifted uncomfortably. "He lived in Three Ships Point for a long time, before he moved back to Ventura Sound. When he moved back to the mansion, he took over one of the wings entirely. He doesn't really let Dorian out of there, out of his sight really. I don't know why, though. He's nice enough. Tends to keep to himself, though."

Solene had surmised as much from watching him—but she appreciated the intel nonetheless.

"Why the fascination?" Roxana asked. "He's been here with us before, you

know?"

"Has he?" Solene supposed she hadn't noticed. Although she'd've thought she would have, given how distinct his appearance was.

"Neither of you get out all that much." Roxana laughed. "But you haven't answered my question."

"I just saw him on the beach yesterday, that's all." Solene didn't know how to give voice to the pull she felt, how even on the beach in their brief, wordless encounter how she'd felt exposed, how she'd felt seen. It was frightening and exhilarating all at the same time. The way she supposed it might feel to fly.

"I see." From Roxana's tone of voice, Solene could tell that she didn't believe her.

Not that that mattered—for then, across the room, Dorian Beltane looked at her again. And this time, Solene couldn't look away. Nor could she run.

"Come on, our seats are this way." Roxana was the one to finally interrupt. She took Solene's hand. "I'll introduce you to him later, but dinner's about to start soon."

Solene let Roxana pull her away. But she couldn't help but spare one last look at Dorian—and smile at him.

His rosy cheeks only grew pinker, but he managed to smile back at her. And that's when Solene felt like she was falling.

The moments after were a pale blur. She let Roxana escort her to the table where Willa and the other Chevalier students were sitting. All of their conversation was a dull roar around her—until, of course, Chancellor Lavenza entered on stage and with her mere presence commanded the crowd. The lights dimmed, and that was when Solene's eyes were finally pulled away from Dorian Beltane.

When Solene looked at Chancellor Lavenza, she mainly saw Roxana. They shared warm brown skin and the ethereal yet powerful features that were characteristic of the Lavenza clan. They shared the same dark red hair, but while Roxana wore hers in modern, spunky styles like her twin high pigtails, Chancellor Lavenza wore hers in a traditional long braid that trailed to her knees. The greatest difference, perhaps were the moles on Roxana's face and her golden eyes—both characteristics of the Beltane lineage. Solene recognized them from Horus—although she didn't see any evidence of them in Dorian.

"To new and retuning students alike, welcome to the Anouir Institute." Her voice was quiet and flowed like water over stone, carrying with it a certain gravitas like the ripples caused by a raindrop. Her posture reminded Solene more of her father's, it was the classic duelist's stance. Elegant, yet it betrayed something more deadly underneath the placid surface. Her dark eyes flicked across the room, and Solene took the opportunity to look to Roxana.

As she usually did when the subject of her mother as the Chancellor of the Anouir Institute came up, Roxana met her mother's gaze with the stoic mask, a practiced glamour for politicians and their children. Which, of course, the Beltanes were close enough to. As a result, Solene was never entirely sure how Roxana felt about her mother.

Did she envy her elegance? Did she resent how her mother had made a name for herself, one that left such a large shadow over Roxana? Or was she proud to resemble her?

"I, for one, am happy to see you all here safe and sound," Chancellor Lavenza continued. "Hopefully this year you will learn much, both inside and outside of the classroom. Hopefully you will all become great witches and find purpose during your time here."

She paused, uncertainty crossing her face like a shadow as she clasped her hands together in front of her waist. "Unfortunately, as much as I would like to continue with such well-wishes, I'm afraid I must address."

A flutter of whispers rose in the room. Solene stole a look to Roxana. She just nodded back towards the stage, her expression betraying nothing.

"As some of you have brought to my attention, there is reason to believe that the Astarte Coven is active in Ventura Sound and across Verana once more." The whispers broke out into shouts, and the Chancellor face grew stern, and she threw her arm out wide. "Silence!"

Such silence ushered into the room, just as quickly as it had been broken.

Chancellor Lavenza nodded in evident satisfaction. "That's better. As I was saying, there is credible reason to believe that the infamous Astarte Coven is active once more in this area. Given the Coven's history at this school, I feel I must make it clear that these rumors are being taken seriously and we will keep our student body safe."

As she surveyed the crowd again, something cracked in the Headmistress's expression. Suddenly she looked so vulnerable on the ballroom's stage, cloaked in light. There were no shadows, nowhere to hide—and even Chancellor Lavenza could look surprisingly childlike in such circumstances.

"Believe me, students of Anouir, when I say that I know personally the consequences of letting Covens of dark witches run unchecked." Her voice cracked. "I spent many years as a duelist for the Covenant before I took the offer to teach and eventually oversee Anouir in the hopes of preventing such tragedies from occurring ever again."

She visibly swallowed, and her expression grew stern again. "Dark magic is not a game, it is not a cool or hip toy to play with. It comes with real, harmful consequences. You would do well to remember that, and I trust that the students of Anouir would be wise and courageous enough to come to the faculty immediately if they have any reason to even suspect anyone of collaborating with the Astarte." 

Her words hung in the air for a moment.

It was in the silence that Solene realized her own heart was pounding, her head reeling.

How could the Astarte Coven be back again?

The Chancellor's expression softened. "Students, before we celebrate a new year, I ask you to sit with me, in a moment of silence, a moment of remembrance for the six students killed by the Astarte and the many more whose lives were irreparably changed by their actions."

As they sat there, in the relative dark of the ballroom, as silent as a place like this could be, Solene thought of her father, of his strange scars. Dark magic could take so much more from someone than their life.

The Astarte had stolen her father's ability to heal and he had grown up to be a very different man from the one he had dreamed of.

Solene knew that she wouldn't be able to eat and make merry, as Chancellor Lavenza had put it. Not if all her father's murderers, would-be or otherwise, still walked free.