Legacy Unbound

1

Delphine

I had always wondered what Paris looked like, what living here as a witch felt like. The stories my mother told me were always the same—Parisian witches thought they were better than everyone else. And, honestly, they were. They had power, history, connections. They were legends. I couldn't help the way my pulse quickened at the thought of it. I was going to be like those witches. I was going to walk through Paris like I owned it—head held high, proud, untouchable. I deserved it. I wanted it.

I'd spent my whole life feeling like I didn't belong. My family—my name—had always felt like a curse. Born into a line of witches who were barely seen, barely acknowledged. The ones who never got picked to perform the rituals at school, who never got the attention of the powerful witches in New Orleans. It had been easier to stay under the radar, to fade into the background where no one would look at you, no one would judge you for being born into a family that had betrayed its own.

But this? This was Paris. I could rewrite everything. I could be someone else here. The old Delphine would stay behind. The new one would be someone to fear. I nearly laughed at the thought.

It was ridiculous, of course. But for the first time in months, a spark of excitement flared up inside me. I could change.

"How much again for a week?" My mother's voice broke into my thoughts as she stood at the front desk, her gaze sweeping over the dingy motel lobby with obvious distaste.

I glanced around, taking in the faded carpets, the cracked tiles, the heavy smell of stale air and bleach. I frowned, wondering if my mother knew how bad we looked. Could she tell? Could the clerk? Could the world?

"Standard, ma'am. Nothing I can do," the receptionist mumbled, eyes glued to the screen, barely sparing us a glance.

I caught my mother's eye, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in her expression. She didn't speak, but the tension was palpable. I was sure she felt it too—the weight of being out of place. Of being poor in Paris. Of being nobody.

"Let's go somewhere else," I said, pulling her hand and leading her out the door, my back straight and my head held a little higher than I felt. I couldn't stand the look of the place, but more than that, I didn't want to look like we were stuck here. That's what it felt like: stuck. Trapped.

As we stepped back onto the street, I shot a glare at the receptionist, my eyes hard. I don't think she noticed.

We spent hours wandering from one overpriced motel to the next. With every turn, the city seemed to laugh at us—at how out of place we were, at how small our budget was compared to the glamorous storefronts, the elegant cafés, the high-end boutiques. This city wasn't made for people like us. Maybe we had Parisian blood, but we didn't have Parisian status.

I was tired, frustrated, and starting to feel like maybe this whole dream—this escape—was going to be short-lived, crushed by the harsh reality of not having enough.

My mother was quiet now. Her eyes distant as she stared at the phone in her hand, a furrow between her brows.

"I need to call someone." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something urgent in it.

I knew everyone she knew. Or, at least, I thought I did. My curiosity flared. Who could she be calling? Someone who could get us out of this mess, maybe?

The phone rang a couple of times before someone answered. A man's voice, calm and steady, cut through the quiet.

"Valentin," she whispered, glancing at me quickly, as though I might be able to hear every word.

"I need that help now. Delle and I are stranded."

I took a half-step closer, my ears straining to catch the conversation. I hated how much I didn't know about this part of her life. Who was Valentin? Why was she talking to him in such a way? There was a familiarity in her voice—a softness I'd never heard before.

She paused, listening, her lips pulling into a half-smile. I took another step, leaning in, but she noticed me and started walking away.

"1999? There's no way it's still there after twenty years," she said, her voice light and teasing, like she was talking to an old friend. Then she laughed softly, the sound like a distant echo of something I didn't quite understand.

I frowned. What was she talking about? What was so funny?

"Of course, thank you," she added, ending the call with a soft sigh, the kind that only came when something heavy had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she turned back to me, there was a sudden brightness in her eyes. A smile that I hadn't seen in ages.

"I have a surprise for you."

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion creeping up on me. There was something strange about this—about her smile, about Valentin, about the way she was acting so differently.

"Nothing can surprise me now," I said with a dry laugh. "Maybe except winning the lottery."

She grinned and lightly punched me in the shoulder, a playful gesture that made my stomach twist. She was acting like we weren't walking around Paris with nothing but a few bills to our name, like we weren't already on the edge of falling apart.

"You can say it's similar," she said, her voice full of excitement. "Valentin pulled some strings, and you're about to be enrolled in The Vauquelin."

My mouth dropped. The Vauquelin? The greatest sorcery school in the world? I stared at her in disbelief, waiting for the punchline, but there was none. This wasn't some cruel joke. She was serious.

"No way," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "How?" I asked again, because my brain couldn't process it fast enough.

My heart was pounding. My mind was racing. The Vauquelin was everything. It was the school where the most powerful witches trained, where the very best in the world honed their magic. People would kill to get in there. And now, somehow, I was about to be one of them?

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My whole body went numb with shock and awe.

"This... this is insane," I said, finally managing to speak. But the truth was, I didn't know what to feel.

I had thought that coming to Paris with my mother, escaping the mess in New Orleans, would be enough. But this? The Vauquelin? This was a world beyond anything I had imagined, something my father's betrayal could never have predicted.

My mother's face softened, watching me carefully, and I saw the tiniest flicker of pride in her eyes. A tiny, quiet reassurance that this was the moment. The one that could change everything.

But I couldn't stop wondering: What was she really hiding? What had she done to make this happen?

"How?" I asked again, the words falling from my lips almost without thought.

She smiled, her eyes distant. "Valentin is an old friend of the family. He owes me a favor. Now, he's making good on it. You'll be at Vauquelin by the end of the week. Pack your bags, Delphine. Your life is about to change."

I stood there, frozen, the weight of her words crashing over me. I was about to become part of something bigger than I ever imagined. But part of me couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this—this was only the beginning.

I stood there, motionless, as the words hung between us like a spell. The Vauquelin. The Vauquelin. I wanted to shout, to jump, to laugh, but there was something sharp in the air, something about the way my mother was looking at me that made me feel like I should hold back. Like maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than the surface revealed.

"The Vauquelin," I repeated, tasting the name, trying to let it settle in my mouth. The Vauquelin—the most prestigious sorcery school in the world. It was the kind of place that legends were made of, the kind of place I'd only ever heard about in hushed whispers, in stories passed down by witches who'd been to other elite academies. The Vauquelin was a school that accepted only the most powerful sorcerers—the ones with elite blood, the ones who had proven themselves worthy. And even then, it wasn't enough to simply show up.

No, you had to pass a series of tests—each one designed to push your abilities beyond their limits. Magic that could melt steel. Riddles that twisted reality. Trials that separated the worthy from the dead.

And now, just like that, it seemed like the universe had decided that I, Delphine, from the line of forgotten witches, was worthy.

I blinked, my throat tight. "How? Why me? Why now?"

My mother's smile softened, but her eyes glinted with something I couldn't read. "Valentin saw it in you. You've always had it in you, Delle."

"Valentin?" I echoed, the name strange and foreign on my tongue. I'd never heard of him before. Not once. I stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn't seem in any hurry to answer my question. Instead, her smile deepened, a look of quiet pride settling across her face.

"Who is Valentin?" I asked again, more insistent now. "Why have I never heard of him?"

She seemed to consider this for a long moment, the air between us thick with something unspoken. Finally, she answered, though her voice was distant, almost too casual. "He's an old friend. A very old friend."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to process the information. "Old friend?" That didn't make sense. I'd known my mother's life inside and out—every twist and turn, every choice, every friend. But this Valentin... I had never heard her speak of him, not even in passing.

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" I asked, my voice quiet but filled with suspicion. "Why is he helping us now?"

Her smile faded slightly, but her gaze never wavered. "I didn't want you to worry," she said, brushing aside my concern with a soft shake of her head. "And I didn't think the time was right. But Valentin... he owes me a favor. And now, he's making good on it."

"A favor?" The word tasted bitter on my tongue. Valentin owed her a favor. Was that it? Was this all just some sort of exchange, a transaction I didn't fully understand? I didn't know why, but something felt wrong about it—something about the way she was talking about him, as though she expected me to simply accept this stranger's involvement in our lives without question.

"Valentin—" I started again, but my mother cut me off with a sharp glance.

"Trust me, Delle. He's been a part of our lives longer than you know. He knows you. And he's making sure that you get what you deserve."

The words hung in the air, heavy with a promise that I didn't fully understand. Valentin had made sure I would be accepted into the Vauquelin. But how? Why? And why had he chosen me? I wasn't one of the elite. My blood wasn't the kind that would be enough to get through the Vauquelin's gates, not unless I could prove myself.

I could feel the weight of the city pressing in on me—the glamour, the riches, the power—but all of it was so far out of reach. The Vauquelin didn't just accept anyone. They didn't open their doors to witches like me. To witches without a legacy, without connections. Without power.

And then... I remembered.

The tests. The trials. The brutal way the school sifted out the weak from the strong. Only the ones with the purest bloodlines and the greatest abilities made it through. It wasn't enough to simply be good. You had to be the best. And they would test you, push you beyond your limits, until you broke or made it through. And even if you did pass, they didn't just let anyone in. The Vauquelin was known for accepting only those with the most extraordinary gifts—the kind of gifts you were born with, not taught.

I could feel the cold sweat on my palms as I thought about the challenges that awaited me. What if I wasn't good enough? What if I failed? What if everything I had ever dreamed of was nothing more than a mirage?

But my mother was already pulling me down the streets of Paris, and I had no choice but to follow. We passed elegant shops and towering cafés, places where witches and sorcerers alike sipped their lattes and discussed magic like it was nothing more than a hobby. But none of it felt real. None of it felt like me.