Page 42

The courtyard outside the greenhouse was quieter than usual. Classes had been canceled so everyone could regroup and come back together, knowing there would be no more shadows lingering.

The low buzz of bees threaded through blooming vines, and the faint clatter of ceramic pots hinted at nearby life. It was the kind of stillness that felt deliberate, like the world had briefly agreed to hush itself, which we did.

Krina sat alone on a bench near the arch of flowering moonvine, her dark braid draped over one shoulder, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her posture was straighter than when I’d first met her, less like someone hiding and more like someone who had nothing left to run from.

I slowed as I approached. She looked up before I could speak. Her expression was unreadable, but she gave a small nod of acknowledgment. It wasn’t surprise that I saw in her eyes. It was readiness.

“Headmistress,” she said, gently. “You’re here about the shadow, aren’t you?”

I sat beside her, brushing my hands on my leg, still unsure how to start.

“I need to ask you about him. Your ex. I need to know more than what you told us when you first arrived. I feel like there might be more to the story.”

Krina’s shoulders tensed, but only for a moment. “I thought we severed the last of him.”

“So did I,” I said. “But I think he left more than just a tether. Something from Shadowick entered the Academy this morning. Slipped through our Wards like it knew the rhythm of our defenses. It left a message, one word.”

She turned her head toward me, brows furrowed. “What did it say?”

“Soon.”

Her breath caught, and that was answer enough.

“I’ve tried to forget what he was,” she said, voice soft and strained. “Tried to convince myself the worst parts of him were behind me. But he never really stayed gone. Not in the way that matters.”

“Did he ever speak of Shadowick?”

The word hung between us like a chill.

Krina didn’t flinch.

But her voice dropped to something almost hollow.

“He never called it that. But yes. He talked about places between the lines. Places that didn’t belong to any map or realm.

He once said there was a forest where silence could split you in two and a river that whispered names you’d tried to forget.

He’d spend time in a village for classes, or at least that’s what he told me. ”

“He said that was where real magic slept,” Krina added. “Magic that didn’t follow rules. Magic that answered to grief.”

Goosebumps raced across my arms. “And he went there?”

She nodded. “More than once. He called it stepping out of the world. Each time he came back… it was like more of him stayed behind.”

“What was his name?” I asked.

Her mouth pulled tight. “Noren.”

I filed it away, though I doubted a name like that would hold much weight in a place like Shadowick. Still, anything that grounded this man in reality was worth keeping.

“He asked questions,” she said suddenly. “Always. About what was hidden. What was forbidden? It began small, with questions about spells, ancient histories, and hidden truths. But it always circled back to power. Who had it? Who kept it? And how he could take it from them.”

She looked at me then, eyes sharp despite the emotion behind them. “He hated places like this. Hated what they stood for. He said learning light made people weak. That comfort made them soft. He believed fear was the only honest thing in the world.”

Fear.

I nodded slowly, dread blooming in my chest.

“That’s what he and Gideon share,” I murmured. “Belief in fear. That power only comes from unmaking things.”

Krina looked down at her hands. “Then he found someone who told him how.”

“Do you think it was Gideon?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Maybe. Or maybe it was Shadowick itself.”

The bench creaked softly beneath us. I wanted to ask more, but something told me not to push. Krina had given more than enough. She hadn’t flinched from the truth, even though it cracked the walls she’d built to survive.

I touched her arm gently. “You helped us before. You’re helping us now. I won’t let him use that against you.”

She nodded, and her smile was faint but real.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For not saying more before.”

“You said what you could when you were ready,” I said. “That’s more than enough.”

We sat a moment longer under the curling vines, the scent of rosemary and warm clay drifting through the courtyard. It was peaceful here, a reminder of what I was trying to protect.

But peace was something I couldn’t afford to hold too tightly anymore.

Because if I didn’t act first, Gideon would.

And to stop him from ever reaching these walls again…

I’d have to go to Shadowick myself.

Krina looked down at her hands again, then pressed them together until her knuckles whitened.

“I should’ve told you more,” she said, her voice breaking on the edges. “I should’ve said something when I felt the pull again, when the shadows started creeping in this morning. I just… I didn’t want to believe he still had that kind of reach.”

I leaned closer, gently placing a hand over hers.

“Krina,” I said, and waited until her eyes met mine again. “You’re not the one who brought him here.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but I shook my head.

“You warned us. You trusted me. That’s more than a lot of people would’ve done. And you’re not alone in this. You never were.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely, jaw set with quiet resolve. She nodded once, as if committing the words to memory.

“We’re all in it together now,” I said, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Whatever’s coming, it won’t just be one of us standing against it. We’re not splinters. We’re a circle. And circles, real ones, don’t break easily.”

Krina let out a shaky laugh, one hand brushing under her eye as she nodded again, stronger this time. “Thank you. Really.”

I smiled gently and stood, my legs still unsteady but gaining strength with each step. The warmth of the morning wrapped around us again as I looked out over the courtyard, my gaze catching something that pulled the breath I’d been holding more deeply into my chest.

Down near the herb gardens, where the rosemary and lemon balm grew in tangled harmony and the air always smelled like summer clinging to spring, I spotted a blur of colorful cloaks and silvery laughter.

Stella.

She stood in the middle of the garden path, gesturing animatedly with a sprig of thyme in one hand, the other holding a basket that had clearly been raided more for fun than necessity.

Her cheeks were flushed, her curls wild, and the glint in her eyes suggested she’d just said something far cheekier than the moment warranted.

Surrounding her were the four vampires—Lady Limora, Opal, Vivienne, and a new student I hadn’t yet met, her presence elegant and enigmatic.

All of them were laughing, real and full and entirely unguarded, heads tipped toward the sun, baskets swinging at their sides, their shadows long and gentle against the stone.

A little slice of calm.

Of life.

Krina followed my gaze and smiled through the remnants of her emotion. “They’ve been helping Stella stock the apothecary shelves. Said they wanted to learn how to steep teas that actually soothe instead of stun.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “A worthy pursuit.”

“Opal enchanted one of the mint patches,” Krina added. “It hums now when it’s ready to be picked.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, just listening.

Laughter, wind through lavender, the hum of warded soil, the murmur of healing herbs growing in stubborn defiance of every dark thing pressing at our edges.

Stella caught my eye across the garden and waved wildly, a bundle of chamomile in one hand and a knowing grin on her face.

Even in the thick of everything, shadows, warnings, the path ahead, there was still this.

Joy.

Magic.

Community.

And a garden that bloomed year-round in Wisconsin.

It wouldn’t last unless we protected it.

But this, this was why I would walk into Shadowick.

And why I would come back.

Stella looked like a vampire of the earth and steeped things, as she crouched near the patch of lemon verbena, snipping stems and humming softly under her breath.

Her cheeks were flushed with sun and laughter, her apron dusted with dried sage and a mysterious sprinkling of what looked like cookie crumbs.

The vampires hovered nearby, all elegance and amused expressions, carrying baskets as if they’d been born to gather herbs in the morning light, even though they were covered and draped in everything to keep them hidden.

I walked toward her, and even before she looked up, I saw it—how right she looked here. Among her plants, among women who shared her depth, her age, her delight in flavor and magic that wasn’t sharp but soothing.

She’d never say it aloud, but I could tell. Stella had missed this kind of companionship. Not just magical. Kindred.

When she finally glanced up, the smile she gave me warmed more than the sun.

“Maeve,” she said, standing and brushing off her hands. “You’re looking less like you’ve been rolled in hedge thorns and existential dread. Progress?”

I smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach.

Her eyes sharpened.

“Ah,” she said. “So it’s true.”

I tilted my head. “What’s true?”

Stella wiped her palms on her apron, walked a few paces toward me, and lowered her voice just enough that the nearby vampires politely pretended not to be listening. “You’re going.”

“Going?”

“To Shadowick.”

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t have to.

“Yes,” I said. “Eventually. Not until I’m ready. Not until the Academy can stand a little more solidly on its own.”

Stella’s brow furrowed, and she studied me like she was trying to taste the truth behind the words. “You say that,” she murmured, “but I see it in your eyes. That storm’s already rising.”

I didn’t deny it.

But I added softly, “Even storms wait for the right conditions.”

Stella didn’t look convinced.

And I didn’t blame her.