Blackwood Academy

My forehead presses against the chilled glass of my bedroom window as I watch the mist swirl between the ancient oaks that surround the old house. My blonde hair falls forward, almost obscuring my view below. I could have sworn there was a figure in the mist just moments ago. But they vanish, leaving no trace behind, just like they always do.

Shaking my head, I turn from the window; determined to forget about the figures. The chill clings to my skin as I leave my room and enter my grandmother’s maze of a house, which is filled with faded red carpets and old ancestral portraits that line the halls. Sometimes the portraits appear to watch me, waiting for something to happen that I don’t understand. For as long as I can remember, that’s how it is here.

It’s late September and the days grow shorter, and the light shrinks away into the corners and crevices as the shadows come out to play. Sweater weathers started and the chilled air from outside seeps in from the old windows.

I have lived with my grandmother ever since a car accident killed my parents when I was ten. She is stern but has moments of being gentle. She occasionally fills the house with lavender-scented candles and it’s the one thing about living here that I hate. I hate the smell of lavender. We lead quiet lives, sticking to ourselves in our small town. The people in town steer clear of us as they believe we are witches, which is ridiculous. Witches do not exist, but they can think whatever they want as long as it keeps them away from us.

My grandmother and I have our routines: tea at four, stories at dusk, and tending the garden every Friday, which mostly has roses and lilies with the odd poisonous foxglove. I never question why she keeps it, but I hope she loves the flower and doesn’t keep it for something more sinister.

I descend the creaky staircase of the old house, holding onto the banister as I go, glancing towards the table where Grandmother and I are due to have our afternoon tea. But there’s something out of place on the table; a stack of glossy university brochures in a neat pile. I sigh. Grandmother’s been bugging me about attending a university. I am now eighteen and I don’t know what I want to do with my life. But I’m sure I don’t want to attend the local university or colleges. However, Grandmother’s been insistent I go to one.

The stack of brochures glares back at me. Their unfamiliar presence amid the usual clutter of seed packets and knitting needles looks out of place on the table. Grandmother’s sitting at the table with her hands folded over a single brochure, her gaze intent, waiting for me. “Ilara,” her voice, low and steady, “I think you should consider these.”

Sighing heavily so she is aware of my disdain, I pick up the stack of brochures, including the one she has under her hand, and browse through them. One sticks out to me more than the others. It’s the one she had under her hands when I came down the stairs. Gold calligraphy curls across the cover, framed by the gothic spires of a looming building. Blackwood Academy, it reads. Beneath is the school’s motto: Lux in Tenebris–Light in Darkness. Inside the brochure are photographs: the grand staircase, students in midnight blue uniforms, and a grand library that seems larger than necessary.

As I observe the brochure, I feel my grandmother watching, eyes glinting with what appears to be hope when I look up at her. “It’s an old school.” She pauses. “Blackwood has always been… different.” She stops, thinking something over. “It’s not for everyone, but I think you might find what you’re looking for there.” I tell her I’ll think about it and we go along with our afternoon. We drink cinnamon tea and eat cookies, chat about our day or discuss an engaging book, before having dinner. I help her clean up the old, outdated kitchen after dinner and head back up the stairs.

As I get ready for bed and pull the covers down on my bed, the evening sets in and the mist thickens, turning to fog outside my window. The Blackwood Academy brochure catches my eye as it lies on my white desk, beckoning me. I walk over and trace my fingertip along the cursive writing. I think my grandmother must’ve placed it there as I don’t recall bringing it up with me. As I look at the photos, I imagine myself within those walls, within that library. And I can see it, can see myself there.

I do not sleep well; my dreams swirl around unfamiliar faces, symbols, winding corridors, and locked rooms. Secrets and shadows plague me. I toss and turn for hours, unable to settle enough to sleep, feeling that the night draws on and on as I stare up at the ceiling wishing for sleep.

When morning comes, I drag myself out of bed. I’m drawn to the desk, where the brochure is, feeling like something’s calling me to it. I pick up the brochure once again and look at it. Contemplating the possibilities, it can’t be that bad of a school, can it? Unable to think about anything else, I decide I’ll go to Blackwood Academy. Even if I tell myself it’s just to test the waters and see how it goes. As a bonus, it’ll get my grandmother off my back about picking a school.

My grandmother’s so excited when I tell her I’ve chosen to go to Blackwood Academy that she packs my bags for me. Going as far as even arranging a cab to take me to the new school. I think her behaviour is off, but I chalk it up to excitement, which fuels my own.

When the car arrives to take me to Blackwood Academy, my grandmother pulls me aside, hugging me before pressing a kiss to my forehead. She turns her back to the driver, fixing her eyes on me, and whispers, “My dear, you will often find the answers in the shadows, where secrets linger, not in the light; remember that.”

What a strange thing to say! But I think over her words. Her cryptic messages are something I always have to figure out and sometimes I never do. Yet, her words continue to linger in my mind as I get into the car. I clutch the brochure as the vehicle pulls away from the one house that’s never felt like home. I’ll understand the meaning of her words one day.

The drive to Blackwood Academy takes me through rolling hills in the countryside, past small towns where the windows glow amber against the gathering gloom that seems to set in at night. The trees get thicker, and the surrounding landscape turns into a misty forest. After a few hours, the school reveals itself at the end of the curving road.

The school’s silhouette rises above the trees and low-hanging clouds, making it appear like a castle from old story myths. Pointed black turrets pierce the sky, and dark grey bricks surround the school. Black Gothic windows grace the building. The black iron gate’s twisted design and the blocky lettering of Blackwood Academy stand before me. Ravens circle overhead as their wings spread wide. I’m not one for superstition, but this place feels dark and the ravens circling above feel like a dark omen is setting in.

The driver hurriedly leaves me and my bags at the front gate, scurrying off in a hurry and leaving the echo of tires against the wet gravel. I watch as the headlights disappear into the mist. It’s clear he doesn’t comprehend the shadows that haunt me. The wind whistles through the ancient iron gates to my left. There’s no one here to greet me or other students. No sign-in station, no security. It feels off. I approach the gates, wondering what I’m supposed to do. I grab onto the bars, searching for someone to let me in. The moment I touch the bars, the gate creaks and opens with a click. Weird.

I shake off the surprise and quickly grab my bags and carry them down the dark cobblestone path. There’s a chill in the air, a sense of eyes watching me as I make my way to the front of the school. There is an air of mystery, a subtle feeling of secrets that cling to the darkest corners of the academy grounds.

Mist figures appear and vanish around me. My grandmother says she senses them but doesn’t notice them move or appear like I do. It is one of my many unusual traits that I never truly understand.

I quicken my pace as I locate the front doors of the academy. Following the path, I climb up the steps of the entrance and approach the doors. Enormous dark oak doors with carved scenes of serpents, lions, and vines stand before me. I search for a handle but can’t find one to open the door. A sigh escapes me. This entire experience is confusing and not at all what I expected when I came here.

As I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder, the door opens with a loud groan that vibrates through the floor. A figure stands in the soft light on the other side. A tall, slender woman in a long coat with a commanding presence speaks, “Miss Ilara Ravenshade?” Her voice sounds musical.

I nod, and she comes closer, her face now visible, revealing a combination of sternness and kindness, and her eyes are the exact shade of green you find in a forest. A braid holds her black hair, which falls over her shoulder. “Welcome to Blackwood Academy. I am Headmistress Moreau.” She reaches out her hand, which I take, and find it to be warm and inviting. “We were expecting you. Come with me.”

Inside, the shadows and light seem to play with each other as though they battle for dominance. The foyer is large, with a beautiful mosaic of ravens and lilies in black and white across the floor, with black marble surrounding the mosaic. Dark wood panelling covers the walls and staircase. The ceiling is coffered, with windows and iron detailing. The grand staircase sits in front of me; the stairs lead to a landing that splits in two directions. On the wooden posts sit beautiful sculptures of ravens. Iron candle chandeliers hang from the ceiling, giving a warm, haunting glow to the room. Various portraits hang on the wall near the landing.

Echoes of laughter, words whisper in the air that I don’t understand, and footsteps drift down the corridors that appear to branch like river streams. The air shimmers with anticipation as though the building’s been waiting for me and the very stones that hold it together are holding their breath. Anticipating.

The headmistress leads me down a hall with more wood panelling and windows lining the hall, with the same black marble flooring that surrounded the mosaic at the bottom of the grand entrance. Iron candleholders line the halls and light the way with the moonlight shining from the windows. The headmistress pauses before entering a dark oak door with the school’s motto on it: Lux in Tenebris.

I step into an office with soft warm glows from the candlelight and chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. The large arched windows cast moonlight into the room. A large dark oak desk sits in front of a large oak bookcase. Papers and pens lay scattered across the desk, with a lit candle on top. Two deep brown chairs sit on either side of the desk. Deep browns and warm ambers cover the room, mixed with shadows.

Stepping inside, Headmistress Moreau walks to her chair behind the desk and sits down, gesturing for me to do the same. “Blackwood is a place for the curious,” she says softly, watching me. “For some seek the light in the shadows and others the knowledge that is overlooked. You will find friends here and perhaps rivals. You will learn much here–about the world and yourself. Are you prepared for this?” she asks.

“I think so,” I reply in a small voice.

Headmistress Moreau smiles, a flash of warmth beneath the dark. “Very good. Your room is ready, as are your roommates. The first assembly will be tomorrow morning. You may wish to explore or simply gather your thoughts. Though I must warn you that this school isn’t always what it seems. Blackwood rewards those who listen and those who dare. But I must encourage you not to go to the North Wing.”

She stands and hands me a key before proceeding to open the door. Recognising this as my opportunity to leave, I step outside after her and she closes the door. I glance back, expecting her presence behind me as I don’t hear departing footsteps. Yet the space is empty as though she was never there at all.

The pulse of the ancient building vibrates under my feet. I glance to my left, and there’s a large arched window that faces the forest at the back of the academy. For a moment, I finally let myself breathe. The academy, with all its secrets and shadows, has opened its doors for me. Somehow, that isn’t a coincidence.