Page 4 of With the Key in the Office

Every now and then, someone drifted by to offer Jessie advice about teaching. Most were sweet. One older trainee murmured, “Don’t screw this up,” and Jessie made a horrified face behind her back until I snorted into my cup.

At some point, because I am not above using a party for investigative purposes, I cleared my throat and pitched my voice just enough to carry to the next cluster of cushions. “Okay,everyone. Quick question among the cheese cubes: has anyone seen anything last night that looked like, well, like me? But, you know, transparent? Drippy? Haunting chic?”

A few chuckles. Heads shook. Mostly people looked curious.

“We’re serious,” Jessie added, softer. “If you saw a glow in the halls, anything weird at all, speak up. Even anonymously.”

Silence, then murmurs. No one volunteered a thing.

Boo. Disappointing.

Robbie leaned in until his shoulder warmed mine. “It was worth trying.”

“I know.” I looked around the room, at people who had hated me last term because of whispers, at people who now smiled without flinching. The ease of it was new, like stepping into a pair of shoes and realizing they didn’t pinch. “Tonight was good.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling fondly down at me.

Music drifted up from someone’s enchanted music box. Not loud, just enough to nudge the air into a sway. Someone produced a deck of cards and started a game of “Tell the Truth Or Your Tea Turns To Vinegar.” I declined on principle.

Even Ms. Maple made a guest appearance—accidental, I think—poking her head in and then freezing like a deer when thirty eyes landed on her. She made an apologetic squeak and pulled back, then rushed forward again to thrust a tray at us. “I brought… lemon bars,” she said, earnestly panicked. “Library bake—no, not bake, that’s not a… I just… here.” Then she vanished as fast as her feet could take her out of the room.

We demolished the lemon bars. “She’s sweet,” Jaylyn said. “Skittish though.”

An hour stretched into two. The bottle found the bottom of itself and refilled. The room grew a little looser, conversations splintering, people sprawled across the blankets in lazy heaps. The lights dimmed themselves, which felt a bit spicy, but whatever.

Eventually, Jaylyn stood to go. Robbie offered to walk her back, but she shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said, and I believed her. Confidence looked good on her.

When the crowd thinned, Jessie flopped back on the cushions and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m supposed to design a curriculum,” she said, somewhere between giddy and terrified. “Me.”

“You were born for it,” I told her.

We stayed like that a long time, talking about everything and nothing, until the embers of the night softened to a glow. No ghostly look-alike crashed our celebration. No blue light knifed under the door. Just our breathing, the whisper of string lights, and the distant hush of the castle pretending it was asleep.

3

CENDI

Robbie walkedme back through the quiet corridor, our hands brushing, then linking as if the castle itself had given permission. The party glow clung to us, soft and fizzy. Someone had turned the sconces down to candlelight levels, and the stone floors kept our footsteps hushed. It was the perfect romantic moment. Something special just between the two of us.

“Teacher Jessie Crayne,” he murmured, still grinning about Jessie’s big moment.

“She’s going to make us run laps for fun,” I said. “Academic laps. With worksheets.”

He laughed, and the sound warmed the chilly hallway. We stopped at my door. I hesitated, cheeks warm from the wine and the happiness of not being alone in a place that had spent a long time sharpening its rumors against me. His eyes searched mine, an invitation wrapped in patience.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in hopeful.

“I’d like that.”

The door clicked open. Tilly and Simon were on the bed in perfect little croissant shapes. They lifted their heads in tandem, ears forward, as if I’d brought a parade. Then they realized I’d just brought Robbie, and all dignity evaporated. Tilly chirped. Simon sprang to the floor and began a series of full-body thrums. It warmed my heart to see the two cats so comfortable with another person, another person that I cared about so much. If my cats liked you, chances were that I’d like you too, at least that was what I always thought.

“Hi, gremlins,” Robbie said in the tone reserved for small children. He crouched, offering his hand. Simon headbutted him like they were old comrades. Tilly took one sniff, declared him acceptable, and trotted to the kitchenette to demand tribute.

“Treats,” I translated, already fishing out the bag. Two mouse-shaped toys, one sparkly, one that made an obnoxious noise, rolled across the floor from under the dresser as if summoned by fate.

I set water to heat for tea, because I’d never learned how to host without feeding people. Robbie shrugged off his jacket and glanced at my bookshelf, where I’d stashed our stack of notes from last term. He touched the edge of one page, eyes thoughtful.

“I keep thinking about the key,” he said. “And Vanderflit’s friend.”