Chapter 19
Cairn
I’M RAKING MORE LEAVES IN the courtyard—the trees around here must be spelled to drop leaves constantly all autumn long, much to my chagrin—when a sudden pounding of feet startles me out of my thoughts of the conservatory and what it might be like to work there.
And next thing I know, a small body is crashing into me, arms coming around me, though they don’t get far on account of how tiny they are and how big I am.
The arms are warm, though, despite their size.
Startled, I twist my head around to glance over my shoulder.
And my eyes widen when I see a full head of curly red hair.
Lyra.
She smells like paper and ink—with a little bit of ash on the edges. Like a fire witch who just finished her midterms.
Immediately, I glance around the courtyard, and sure enough, a few students have noticed Lyra’s display and are looking at us curiously.
Gently, I remove myself from her arms and take a wide step away from her. Holding the rake between us so she can’t tackle me again, I say lowly, “Miss Wilder. Is there something you need?”
My tone seems to confuse her, if the furrow that forms in her brow is any indication. “What?”
Clearing my throat, I glance pointedly toward the students seated on the grass in the courtyard, their robes spread out under them and their faces bathed in autumn sunlight.
Lyra glances at them—much too obviously, in my opinion—then looks back at me and offers an innocent smile. “Oh, sorry. I was so excited, I didn’t even realize they were there.” She clutches her yellow-lined robe in her hands, nearly vibrating where she stands.
“Excited about what?” I ask.
“My midterms,” she says. “I passed!” She lets out a squeal and dances on the spot, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Or, well, I’m pretty sure I did. No, I’m certain I did. I can feel it.”
Despite knowing there are eyes on us, I can’t keep from offering her a big, proud smile. “You passed,” I say, somewhat quietly. My grin doesn’t falter. “I knew you could do it.”
My arms long to reach out and pull her into a hug, to crush her to my chest while I bury my face in her chaotic mess of curls and whisper to her how proud I am of her.
But we’re in public, and I can do no such thing.
Instead, I grip the handle of the rake, clutching it in my fingers, using it as a distraction so I don’t try to reach out and touch her.
“I’m glad someone did, because I really had my doubts.
” Lyra pushes her hair back out of her face with one hand and props the other on her hip, robe hanging in the crook of her arm.
“I was really nervous for my elemental magic exam, but I did it! And I didn’t even set Professor Stone’s hair on fire. ”
An image pops into my mind of the stern professor with his hair singed on the ends, a burnt smell trailing him everywhere he goes, and I let out a laugh.
“What changed?” I ask her, feeling some of the tension uncoil from my shoulders as the students across the courtyard lose interest in us and resume their own conversations.
Lyra’s lip quirk up on one side. They’re so pretty and pink, I want to run my thumb across them, followed by my tongue.
A pressure starts to build in my low abdomen, and I immediately banish the dangerous thought.
“The sniffleblooms,” she says matter-of-factly.
Now it’s my turn to arch my brow in confusion. “Huh?”
She laughs, and by the goddess, it’s a beautiful sound.
“You—they—taught me to take my time, to go slow and to be intentional. When I called on my fire magic, I heard your voice in my head, telling me what I needed to do.” Her freckled cheeks take on a pinkish hue.
“And it helped. A lot.” Her eyes meet mine, flaming red in the autumn sunlight.
“So . . . thank you. I know I’ve said it before, but seriously.
I’m not sure I could’ve done that without you. ”
My heart swells, emotion making my throat squeeze tight. I have to clear my throat before I can speak again. “That was all you, Lyra.” I keep my voice down so no one will hear me using her name so informally. “I didn’t do anything. It was you.”
She flushes brighter red and makes a move toward me as if to hug me again. I take a wide step back and give her a pointed look, tail flicking behind me.
“Oh, sorry.” Her laugh dances around us again. “Okay, well, uh . . . I guess I’ll get going. I have to tell Juniper and my roommates the good news. But you were the first on my list.”
First on her list?
Again, my throat wants to close up. What is this witch doing to me?
“But I’ll see you at the Samhain festival, won’t I?” She tips her head and regards me with what I interpret as a flirty smile.
Glancing away and trying not to let my own cheeks flush red, I say, “You will. I work the mead table every year.”
“Great. I’ll help you, then.”
Now my gaze snaps back to hers. “Well, no, that’s really not—”
“Okay, bye, Mr. Axton!” Lyra raises her voice a bit, as if to ensure the other students hear her using my surname, as she’s expected to. “Thanks again!”
She starts off across the courtyard at a jog, messy curls bouncing as she goes, and I’m barely able to tear my eyes away from her.
And I’d be lying if I said I’m not exponentially more excited for the Samhain festival now.
I’m in so much trouble . . .