Chapter Text
Later, as the feast wound down and the House Heads began to herd their charges toward the dormitories, it turned out Paris's quip wasn't too far off the truth. A tall man with long, unkempt blond hair and smudged eyeliner beckoned the Thunderbird cohort to gather around him, introducing himself as Gil.
"Just Gil," he stressed. "Not Professor Gil. I won't answer to that." He clapped his hands once, sending a harmless shower of blue sparks into the air for emphasis. "Also, if anyone calls me ‘sir,’ I will assume you are talking to my father, who is a dentist in Ontario and does not deserve that level of formality."
A ripple of laughter went through the Thunderbird students.
"Thunderbirds," Gil continued, already turning toward a side corridor that branched off from the main hall, "we fly together! Keep up."
And just like that, Lane was being swept away. She twisted at the waist, searching for Rory one last time, finding her near the foot of the main staircase with the other Inkehorns, clutching a book to her chest, looking a little overwhelmed but bright-eyed, leaning toward Professor Medina as he spoke animatedly to the group. When Rory caught Lane’s eye, she mouthed “Later” and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
The Thunderbird hatchlings walked for what felt like ages, listening to Gil's booming voice echoing in the high-ceilinged hallways. Gradually, the corridors grew more airy and open as they ascended stairs after stairs, the stone softening to something like weathered sandstone. Finally they arrived into a room with nothing but a wide, spiraling staircase of dark wood at its center, polished smooth with age.
Resting one arm on the banister and the other on his hip, Gil regarded them with a friendly smile. "Alrighty, looks like no one got lost. This here is the entrance to the southern tower aka the Thunderbird dorm. I'm going to teach you the spell to activate it, so get your wands out."
Lane reached for her wand, fingers tightening around the lacquered wood. All around her, her fellow Thunderbirds were doing the same, some with practiced ease, others fumbling slightly in their excitement or nerves.
"Right, the spell's simple, but you gotta say it with intention and remember to snap your wrist at the same time, up or down, depending which way you’re going. Repeat after me. Fulmen Gradus." Gil's wand traced a quick zigzag in the air, like lightning.
"Fulmen Gradus," they spoke in a scattered chorus, some clear, some mispronouncing it entirely ("Fool-men grass?" came a confused echo from the back).
Gil scratched his chin. "Don't worry, I'm gonna make sure everyone gets it right. Who wants to go first?"
A boy with shaggy, shoulder-length hair, not unlike Gil's, stepped forward. "I'll go."
"Good. What's your name?"
"Zach.”
"Alright, Zach. Stand on the first step and face the staircase, feet planted, wand ready. And hit it!."
The boy squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and raised his wand. "Fool-men grass!" He grinned sheepishly as everyone groaned.
Gil held up a hand. "Hey, no worries, first try's for nerves, second try's for real."
It took Zach another six times to get it right, but eventually the staircase responded with a low rumble, the wood groaning upward in a series of revolving stairs, Gil sending him off with a two-fingered salute and a reminder to get off on the first landing. One by one, the other Thunderbirds took their place on the step, their collective confidence boosted as no one thought they could possibly do worse than Zach.
Lane got it on her second try, beaming to herself as she moved up the spiral, arriving on a broad, circular landing with just one door. She entered what she assumed must have been the common room, round and spacious and full of light, reminiscent of an observatory or a sun room, the domed ceiling charmed to show a sunny sky with swirling white clouds and a thunderbird in flight. The floor was tiled with terracotta and between every window there was an orange tree.
“Not bad, huh?”
It was Zach, already lounging in one of the arm-chairs that looked like giant, curved talons. His hat and uniform lay in a heap on the floor next to him, and when he gave a lazy, satisfied stretch, Lane’s attention was drawn to the tattoos on his biceps.
“I mean, it’s insane,” Lane said, quickly removing her own hat and claiming a chair. Most of the other students were still exploring the room, making tentative small talk with each other. “I’m Lane. Are those real?”
“Yup. Pretty cool, right?” Zach flexed his arms. “My mom made them.”
“Wow. I want to get some too. I mean, at some distant time in the future when I have a job and a house and I won’t end up on the streets when mama disowns me.” Reminded about what awaited her when Mrs Kim found out about the sorting, Lane’s shoulders slumped. “Actually, why wait? When she finds out I’m in Thunderbird, my days will be numbered anyway.”
“Sounds rough, man. My mom didn’t even know magic existed until the letter came. I guess my dad must have been a witch.”
“I’m sorry, is he…?”
“Dead? Nah, I mean he might as well be. Whatever.” Zach made a dismissive gesture.
The door leading to the staircase opened with a bang, Gil stepping through with a nervous expression. “Okay, guys, listen up. I was gonna have a bit of a heart-to-heart with you, but turns out we’re in fact missing one kid. Jess Mariano, anybody know him? No? Well, I gotta go look for him, so I’m just gonna give you a run-down of the basics real quick.”
“Dorm rooms are the next three landings up, first-years on the second landing. Rooms are shared. The names are on the doors and will open with the tokens. Uh, what else?” Gil stepped back toward the stairs. “You’ll figure it out. Go on. Go get unpacked. I’ll be back later. Or not.”
With that, Gil was gone, leaving behind a silence as everyone waited for someone to take charge of the situation. Eventually a short girl with dangling cowrie shell earrings suggested they go and find their rooms, which everyone readily agreed to, piling into the staircase, which stuttered in confusion as too many people tried saying the activation words at the same time.
Deciding she’d rather wait out the rush, Lane slipped back into the now empty common room, plucking and peeling an orange while wandering the perimeter of the room. “So this is my life now,” she murmured to no one. Then she noticed some of the windows were actually doors, leading to stone balconies with balustrades wide enough to sit on. Beyond them stretched the rugged, misty hillside of Mount Greylock. Putting her hat back on, she pushed one of the doors open.
The stone was still warm from the day when Lane leaned on the low wall, and she took in a deep breath of mountain air. From here, she could see steeply pitched roofs, turrets and towers, stone cladding, and grand chimneys, all made of rugged granite. Somewhere in there, Rory was unpacking, probably alphabetizing her books or asking very polite, extremely intelligent questions. Lane tried to picture the Inkehorn dorm, close to the ground or even underground, something like a burrow with a fountain or—
Someone cleared their throat. Lane jumped, nearly dropping her half-peeled orange over the edge. She turned to find a boy sitting a few feet away in the corner of the balcony, cross-legged, a book in his lap. He had dark hair gelled up into perfectly tousled spikes, sharp features, and an expression that suggested he’d already decided he didn’t like this place, these people, or possibly just Lane.
“Oh— sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Lane blinked. “Uh. Hi. Sorry, are you a first-year?” She didn’t remember seeing the boy earlier.
“Nope. Not for long anyway.”
“Are you transferring somewhere else?” As soon as the word had come out of Lane’s mouth, she knew that wasn’t it. “You know there are, like, wards and stuff, to keep students from leaving campus, right?” She knew all about them since it was among the many things her mother had interrogated the teachers at the admissions interview about.
Jess shrugged. “I’ll work my way around them.”
“Sure.”
“What, you don’t think I can?”
Lane pursed her lips. “I mean, the school is protected by an Arcanum spell, the most ancient and potent type of sealing magic. And even if you made it past the barrier, you’d still have to get through about five miles of mountainous terrain full of Wampus cats and Pukwudgies.”
“What are you, some kind of Ilvermorny expert?”
“No, but my friend Rory is. She’s read From Isolt to Ilvermorny at least five times and likes reading passages out loud. Actually, if anyone, she could probably figure out a way past the barrier spell.”
Jess didn’t look too convinced. “Great. Guess I’ll have to consult her then.”
“Guess you do. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, because she’s an Inkehorn.” Lane bit her lip. “Why are you so eager to leave? Like, what’s so bad about Ilvermorny?”
“Nothing, other than that it’s a school and I’m not going to learn anything useful here.” Jess closed the book he’d been reading, and Lane could read the title: The Cave Without Light — Regulus Black’s Final Journey. She was not familiar.
“How do you know? You haven’t taken a single class.”
Jess didn’t seem to have an answer to that. He tucked the book under his arm and leaned back against the stone, eyes drifting out over the mountains. “Look, it’s the same shit everywhere. This place is just another cage, just with nicer architecture. Rules, curfews, House points. It’s all a scam.”
“Um, for some of us this is the most freedom we’ve ever had,” Lane said, frowning. In her daydreams rebellious boys never sounded quite so whiny. “In fact, I had to beg mama to let me apply here. A curfew beyond eight pm? No room checks? Allowed to eat what I want, listen to any music I want? This is practically heaven.”
Jess looked disturbed. “Jeez, what’s wrong with your mom?”
“She’s Korean and a pureblood,” Lane answered cheerfully. “Although so is papa, so it doesn’t really explain everything. Anyway, I’m going to look for my room now. You should probably go tell Gil you’re not lost. I mean, assuming you’re not leaving this second.”
“Who the hell is Gil?”
“Our House Head,” Lane answered right before she stepped back into the common room. “Tall, blond, looks like he almost made it to Weird Sisters, but like, twenty years ago — you can’t miss him.”
There was no one on the second landing when Lane arrived, only doors that curved around the circular hall, each marked with two small brass plaques, glinting with names in curling script. Lane found hers without trouble, sighing a little when she saw the name above hers. Louise Grant.
“Well,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders. “Here goes nothing.”
The door swung open onto a cozy, sunlit room with two large beds with velvet curtains, two trunks at the foot of each, two small oak writing desks, and a window that opened out toward the mountains. On each desk there was a little vase with a single feather in it, long, bronze, and tipped in iridescent red. Heart skipping, Lane reached for the one closest to her. A Thunderbird feather.
Curiously, on that desk there was also a magical phonograph, wrapped up with a big bow, as well as a stack of records and a giant box of chocolate frogs.
“Someone really likes you, huh,” said a voice from the corner.
Lane turned to see Louise perched on the windowsill, legs dangling out into the open air like she didn’t notice the hundred-foot drop below. She was chewing on a piece of licorice while flipping through the latest edition of The Seer. “I’m Louise. You’re Lane, right?"
“Yeah, that’s me.” Lane let her hand hover over the phonograph. The bow was tied with red-and-gold ribbon, and a little parchment tag fluttered beneath it. In precise, copperplate handwriting, it read: Play it loud. Be louder. Uncle Joe.
Cheeks stretching into a giant grin, Lane brushed her fingers lovingly across the polished wood of the phonograph. She hadn't seen her youngest uncle in person in a while, but he always remembered her big days no matter what globe-trotting adventure he was currently on, fully abusing Mrs. Kim's soft spot for him by picking gifts that ranged from dangerous to mildly scandalous.
"Who's it from?" Louise drawled.
"My uncle Joe. He's always sending me awesome presents. He travels a lot."
"He sounds hot," Louise sighed. "The best mom could do for me was a monthly prescription of Oopsie Evadus. Definitely gonna need it, though. There are some serious hotties in this school."
Lane blinked before deciding to move on. "Do you mind if I—?" she asked, nodding toward the phonograph.
"As long as it’s not harpsichord or, like, banshee jazz," Louise said, without looking up.
Lane flipped through the record stack. The top one was blank except for a scrawled label that read Vol. I: Kick the Door Down. With a well-practised flick of her wand, she cast a silencing charm on the room before slipping the record onto the phonograph’s turntable. A jolt of magic thrummed through the room as soon as the needle dropped and a wall of gritty, thumping percussion erupted, followed by snarling guitars and husky female vocals. She laughed, throwing her head back and miming the drums as the first chorus hit.
Louise made an approving noise. "Azkaban Dropouts."
"You're into them too?" Lane asked, growing excited.
"I'm into their guitarist. I saw them live in New York in the summer, and he had on these leather pants that were so tight I could see everything."
Brushing off the twinge of disappointment, Lane grinned. "I'm not gonna lie, I may have a poster of him thrusting his hips glued to the inside of my trunk.”
She was still mid-drum-roll when Gil’s booming, magically enhanced voice came from the landing. “Hey, guys! The runaway has been found, so let’s have that get-together now. I got some snacks set up for you guys, too.”
“Finally,” Louise said, checking her hair in a hand mirror and hopping off the window-sill, only pausing to straighten her mini-skirt before leaving the room without another word.
“Guess I’ll see you downstairs, then,” Lane said to the empty room. She took off her hat and school robes, folding them neatly on the bed before shaking them loose again and throwing them casually on the back of the desk chair. Then she dug out her cosmetics bag, brushed her hair, and added just a tiny bit of blush on her cheeks. After a moment of hesitation, she also took off her glasses to add some kohl along the corners of her eyes. It didn’t look all that great since she rarely got a chance to practice makeup on herself, but it was enough to feel a little more like the “Lane” she imagined when she thought about who she wanted to be here.
Tucking the bag back into the trunk, she glanced around the room one last time — the sunlight spilling over the terracotta floor, the Thunderbird feather catching the light, the phonograph with its records — and whirled around a few times out of sheer happiness.
When Lane arrived in the common room, the other Thunderbirds were gathering in a loose circle around a long, low table piled with small treats: glowing jellies, tiny pastries that puffed up magically when bitten, and mugs of something that smelled strongly of cinnamon and toasted marshmallow. Zach was perched on the edge of the table, gnawing on a jelly while enthusiastically explaining something to Louise, who looked more interested in his biceps. Jess was nowhere to be seen.
Doing her best to look friendly and approachable, Lane grabbed a pastry and turned to the first person she saw, who happened to be the girl from earlier, with cowrie shell earrings. “Hi! I’m Lane.”
A bright smile popped up on the girl’s face. “Olivia. Cool shirt.”
Lane glanced down at her t-shirt, the yellow one with the text Born Pure. “It’s ironic,” she said quickly, cursing herself for not changing. The school robes were hot, and it was the only t-shirt she had that mama approved of.
Olivia laughed, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “How’s the tower treating you so far?”
“Good. Really good. I didn’t expect to be here, but now I am, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else,” Lane said honestly. “You?”
“I mean, this is my dream House. My roommate could be better, though. I’d tried putting up an installation of thunderbirds, you know, just this little thing floating in the ceiling, and my roommate told me to take it down because the circling movement was giving her motion sickness.” Olivia made a face. “Something tells me I’m not going to be listening to a lot of music, either.”
“You can come to my room to listen to music — my roommate seems cool with it.”
Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I have a magical phonograph and a near-religious devotion to loud guitars.”
“Okay, I love you already.” Olivia lifted her mug in toast. “Thunderbird solidarity.”
They clinked mugs, the cinnamon-marshmallow steam puffing up between them.
Gil clapped his hands again, blue sparks popping like fireflies. “Alright, flock! Circle up, circle up.” He hopped up onto the table with surprising balance, sitting cross-legged and leaning back on his hands. “First things first. Welcome to Thunderbird. You’re here because you’re fucking cool. Don’t ever forget that. You’re going to hear a lot about the other Houses. Inkehorns are brilliant, Moonacks can do some freaky shit with weeds, Wampuses are bad bitches. But Thunderbirds? We are the pioneers. Whenever someone does something for the first time, it’s almost always a Thunderbird.”
“Second. House rules. Rule one: Don’t be a jerk. Rule two: If you are a jerk, at least be funny about it. Rule three: Don’t do anything so dangerous that I have to fill out more than three forms. Paperwork is the true dark magic.”
Leaping down from the table, Gil reached toward the corner of the room, an ultramarine blue guitar flying to his hand. “And now I’m gonna play you guys a little welcome song.” When he plucked the first chord, the sound bounced against the domed ceiling like a lightning strike caught in a jar. “Sing along once you’ve memorized the lyrics. There’s only one verse.”
They did, some much louder than others, the chords of the guitar and their voices blending into a glorious cacophony until Lane swore she could feel the entire tower vibrating through the soles of her shoes and the pit of her stomach.
"Wings of the storm, hearts untamed,
Across the skies, we carve our name.
Lightning calls, the world unfolds,
Thunderbird soars, brave and bold."