Chapter 19 Home Safe**
Saturday night / Sunday morning, December 21-22, 2026**
The quarry road is pitch-black except for Noah's phone flashlight and Brittany's nervous pacing.
I jump out of Remy's truck before he even kills the engine.
**Celeste (relieved):**
"You two okay?"
**Brittany (half-laugh, half-sob):**
"We thought you guys forgot about us."
**Noah (sheepish):**
"Battery cables got chewed by something. Probably a raccoon."
Remy is already under the hood with a flashlight between his teeth.
Thirty seconds of swearing, one spark, and the engine turns over like nothing happened.
**Remy (wiping grease on his jeans):**
"Good to go. Everyone pile in Noah's car. I'll follow on the bike."
We do a weird caravan shuffle: Remy on his bike behind us, Noah driving, Brittany shotgun, Seras and me squished in the back with boards across our laps.
One by one we drop people off.
Seras at the end of her dirt road (she fist-bumps me through the window and disappears into the trees).
Remy peels off at the pack house with a two-finger salute that means *text me when you're inside*.
Finally Noah pulls into my driveway at 3:47 a.m.
Mom's porch light is on (she stopped asking questions after the third 4 a.m. return this year).
**Noah (quiet):**
"Night, Celeste. Thanks for… whatever that was."
**Brittany (leaning over from the passenger seat):**
"Love you, storm queen."
I wave until their taillights disappear, then drag myself inside.
The house is warm and smells like cinnamon from Mom's leftover Thanksgiving pie.
I leave my muddy Vans by the door, drop the ruby wolf heart on my dresser next to the other nine pieces (it glows softly, like it's already making friends), and head straight for the shower.
Hot water washes away quarry dust, ghost cigar smoke, and the last of the adrenaline.
I stand under the spray until my fingers prune and the bloodstone finally stops buzzing.
Pajamas: Remy's old black hoodie (the one I stole back in June) and soft flannel shorts.
I crawl into bed, twin tails still damp, locket thumping slow and steady between my collarbones.
I manage one text before sleep drags me under:
**me → Remy:**
home safe. love you coyote boy ❤️
His reply is instant:
**Remy:**
love you more storm queen. sleep.
I'm out before my phone even hits the nightstand.
Somewhere far above the valley, in a place that exists between one blink and the next, Rowan Vale steps sideways through a mirror that isn't there.
He reappears in the obsidian hall of the Monastery, coffee finally cold, jacket smelling faintly of geothermal steam and 1920s gin.
The First Wizard "One" waits beneath the starlight ceiling.
**One (voice like galaxies colliding):**
"Report."
**Rowan (exhausted, fond):**
"She just recruited Al Capone's ghost crew, claimed her tenth piece, and still made it home in time to keep her mother from grounding her.
The girl's going to be fine."
He sets the jade tablet on the obsidian table.
It flickers once and goes dark.
**Rowan (quiet):**
"Tell the Council the storm has a family.
And the dead answer when she calls."
He walks away before anyone can ask him to stay.
Back in Hot Springs, the valley sleeps under frost and steam.
Ten pieces down.
Thirty-seven to go.
And tonight, for once, the storm queen sleeps safe in her own bed.
Goodnight, world. The Transfer Students**
Monday, January 5, 2027**
First period is half over when the office door opens and three new kids walk in with Principal Hargrove.
I feel it the second they cross the threshold:
Three separate heartbeats that don't belong in a normal high school.
**Hargrove (cheerful, oblivious):**
"Everyone, please welcome our mid-year transfers.
They'll be finishing the year with us."
The first is a girl, maybe 5'3", copper-red curls, freckles like constellations.
She's wearing a vintage bomber jacket two sizes too big and combat boots laced with orange ribbon.
Her smile is bright, but her green eyes are ancient.
**Girl (waving):**
"Hey! I'm Rowan Holiday—no relation to the sub, I swear.
Call me Holly."
The second is a guy, tall and lanky, dark skin, shaved head, round glasses that keep sliding down his nose.
He's carrying a battered trumpet case like it's armor.
**Guy (quiet, polite):**
"Malik Carter. I do band and robotics."
The third is a girl with a platinum buzz-cut, leather jacket covered in enamel pins, and a scar that runs from her left ear to her collarbone.
She doesn't smile at all.
**Girl #2 (flat):**
"Vera Knox. Don't talk to me before noon."
They take the three empty seats right behind me, Remy, and Seras.
The bloodstone on my forehead flares once—sharp, warning.
**Dacia (low):**
*They are not Severed Circle.
But they are not harmless either.
They are hunted.
And the hunter is coming.*
I glance at Remy.
His knuckles are white on his pen.
**Remy (mental link, new trick we've been practicing):**
*They smell like ozone and old blood.*
Holly leans forward, taps my shoulder like we're already friends.
**Holly (whisper):**
"Nice twin tails. We match energy."
I don't know why, but I believe her.
**Lunch – the new kids sit with us**
It happens fast.
Holly plops her tray down like she's known us forever.
Malik follows, quiet.
Vera takes the end seat, arms crossed, scanning the cafeteria like she's counting exits.
**Holly (mouth full of tater tots):**
"So the rumors are true. Hot Springs has a real-live blood witch.
Cool."
Seras chokes on her soda.
**Malik (soft, to me):**
"We're not here for you. Not exactly.
We're here because something's hunting crown heirs.
All of them."
Vera finally speaks.
**Vera (voice like gravel):**
"We're the last three from the Appalachian Covenant.
Everyone else is dead.
We heard this valley still stands.
We want to know why."
Remy's dagger hand twitches under the table.
**Celeste (careful):**
"Who's hunting you?"
Holly's smile dies.
**Holly:**
"Something that calls itself the Hollow Choir.
They wear the faces of the heirs they've already taken.
And they're getting closer."
The bloodstone burns cold.
**Crown HUD (new crimson alert):**
```
THREAT DETECTED – HOLLOW CHOIR
Origin: Unknown
Method: Identity theft via consumption of crown fragment
Current targets: Any heir with < 15 pieces
Projected arrival: 72 hours
```
I look at the three new kids, at their too-old eyes and fresh grief, and feel the weight settle on my shoulders.
They're going to fight with us.
They're going to become ours.
And at least one of them isn't going to make it to graduation.
I hate that I already know that.
But right now they're alive, and scared, and looking at me like I might be the answer.
So I do the only thing I can.
**Celeste (offering my hand across the table):**
"Welcome to the valley.
We protect our own."
Holly takes it first, grip strong.
Malik next, gentle.
Vera last, scar pulling tight as she finally nods.
Ten pieces down.
Thirty-seven to go.
And now the war just got personal.
The Hollow Choir is coming.
We'll be ready.
Even if it costs us everything.