Chapter Three
Walking along the cloister, Isla let her eyes trace the arches as they framed the university’s central courtyard. The solid building on her right suddenly didn’t feel quite so solid anymore. What had always felt immovable now felt oddly fragile.
“Are you okay, Isla?”
Juliette was watching her closely.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Juliette said, rolling her eyes. “Of course you are.”
She and Andrew flanked Isla like personal bodyguards.
The two of them had been close before Isla had arrived at the university—friends from the start—and it was through Juliette that Isla had first met Andrew properly, though he had been on the interview board when she applied for the job.
He had irked her that day. He’d seemed all too knowing.
Isla snorted at the idea of the two being bodyguards—sweet Juliette and scholarly Andrew, hardly an intimidating pair. At the inelegant sound, Andrew gave her a look that suggested he was genuinely worried about her mental stability.
“All my questions have just led to more questions. What does all this even mean? And what on earth does it mean that I’m Fated?”
Juliette’s face lit up, excitement bubbling through her. “It means—”
“I think, Juliette,” Andrew cut in, “that we should get Isla home and let her rest before we bombard her with any more information tonight.”
Isla didn’t argue—her head did hurt—but she gave Juliette a look that clearly said: Later. You’ll tell me everything later.
After adamantly declining Harold’s offer to get her medically checked out, Isla had reluctantly caved when Andrew insisted he walk her and Juliette home. They were neighbors, all living in the historical apartment building linked to the university.
The female staff stayed at the very top of the apartment building on the third floor, as there were fewer rooms there, though they were slightly larger, which Isla liked.
The male staff members were on the first two floors.
The caretakers, an elderly husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, also lived on the second floor.
The wife was as good as a watch dog, keeping a keen eye on any men trying to get to the third floor; doing so without her knowledge was quite a feat. Or so she’d heard.
As they emerged from the cloister, their footsteps crunching along the gravel path, Isla couldn’t help glancing around at the shadows, half expecting someone to be lurking. Her “protectors” didn’t exactly inspire confidence, though she was—begrudgingly—grateful not to be alone.
“Why was I attacked?” Isla couldn’t help asking again, even though she knew they didn’t know the answers. The shadows were making her edgy.
Juliette sighed as Andrew seemed to growl under his breath.
“I wish we knew. Harold is going to investigate. Don’t worry,” Juliette said softly.
Ha, don’t worry, Isla thought.
“Until then, Juliette and I will be sure to follow you night and day.”
Not ha! Isla panicked.
“Absolutely not,” Isla said, stopping in her tracks.
“Isla, don’t be difficult,” Andrew replied, frustrated. “It’s not normal for you to be attacked that way just because your powers awakened. Tonight Juliette can stay with you and then we can discuss a rotation of watch duty tomorrow.”
“Oh, well in that case, of course—why don’t you just follow me to the bathroom, too,” she muttered, already regretting everything about this new reality.
Andrew flushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, of course there will be boundaries.”
“And those boundaries will start right outside my apartment door.”
“Isla ...”
“No, Andrew. Juliette is right next door. If dark shadows appear again, I will knock on her wall.”
Andrew looked like he was about to protest.
“Unless,” Juliette said, stopping his potential protest, “the shadows are because she tried to cook toast and burnt it, as she usually does, or I lose control of my smoky superpowers and they drift through to Isla’s apartment.”
Isla gave a short laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing, grateful for her friend’s attempt at making things a bit lighter—especially as she knew Juliette wasn’t keen on her own powers, though she was curious why.
She nudged her gently. “I knew it! I knew you had superpowers.”
Her friend chuckled.
“And if there’s going to be any smoke-based haunting through the walls, you’re right, it will be me. Toast has never survived my kitchen.”
Juliette looped an arm around her waist. “And if the real shadows do come knocking, I’ll be right there with fireballs at the ready.”
Andrew groaned. “That’s not—any of it—reassuring.”
Juliette just grinned.
Shaking his head, Andrew continued on, the ladies following, arms linked, the rhythm of their shoes soft against the worn stones.
The ancient university grounds stretched around them, all moss-covered stone and towering spires.
Outside lanterns flickered in their brackets like sleepy sentries, adding to the spooky feel of the walk.
Moonlight spilled over the gravel paths in silver puddles.
Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted with dramatic timing that Isla did not appreciate.
The air held that familiar scent of damp earth, a reminder that the world kept turning, even after chaos.
Despite her instinct to push people away and her adamant words about being left alone at her apartment door, Isla admitted to herself that she was afraid to sleep alone—though she’d never admit it to the others.
They reached the iron bike rack tucked beneath a colonnade, where her bicycle waited beside Juliette’s—hers the one with the cheerful basket and faded blue frame.
Andrew moved ahead and unlatched it without a word, and Isla raised an eyebrow as he firmly kept his hand on the handlebars, making no move to pass it over.
“You just had a blow to the head,” he said, tone brooking no argument. “You’re not riding. Not tonight.”
Despite huffing her annoyance, Isla didn’t try to take her bike. Her head still throbbed, and she wasn’t about to fall over in front of him. Juliette, ever the loyal companion, chose to walk alongside, pushing her own bicycle with an exaggerated air of dignity.
“How will I know what my, you know, abilities are?” Isla asked quietly.
Andrew glanced over and studied her face. She tried not to squirm under the weight of it.
“Now that you have your Sigil mark, it won’t be long,” he said. “The process tends to come naturally. Though ...” He paused. “I have my guesses. You’re a botanist, so becoming a Terra Summoner seems the most likely scenario.”
He kept looking at her, and Isla had the odd sensation that he wasn’t just making a logical guess, that he knew. She looked away, unwilling to ask him questions, even if curiosity burned beneath her ribs.
“You know,” Juliette said brightly, interrupting Andrew’s thoughtful stare, “I am fully on board with Isla’s idea of us being superheroes. It would make a wonderful story—and we’d make excellent heroines, Isla.”
“I have no doubt,” Andrew answered, now looking forward, though his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
“Oh, we must come up with superhero code names,” Juliette continued, undeterred. “Now that Isla knows the truth and we’re wrapped up in a mystery, it’s practically required.”
“Ice Man?” Isla muttered, biting back a grin.
Andrew looked at her, his face mock offended.
Juliette nodded with solemn agreement to his offense. “You could call Andrew that, though it’s a bit on the nose. We want our legends to be epic. I was thinking something more like ... Captain Chill.”
“I don’t think so,” Andrew said flatly.
“No, you’re right—I’m not getting that vibe,” Juliette replied.
Andrew let out a long-suffering sigh and looked like he was reevaluating all his life decisions.
“I could be Flame Dame,” Juliette offered with a theatrical grin.
“How about ... The Shadow Librarian?” Andrew said, surprising them both.
Isla blinked, momentarily thrown. He was joining in their ridiculousness. Then again, she supposed she was too. Her carefully composed facade—the serious, levelheaded professor—was slipping far more easily than she’d expected. The events of the whole evening had been one long unraveling.
“Sounds like I haunt overdue students.”
“Exactly,” Andrew replied.
They all laughed at that, the kind of laughter that came too easily after an ordeal, softening the edges of the night.
As the three reached the apartment building, they secured their bikes and stepped through the front door—an old sandstone affair with creaking stairs and high ceilings, where every footstep echoed and the smell of dust and coal lingered faintly in the halls.
Wallpaper desperately clung to the walls, though in places it had given up the fight and was peeling away.
Her two bodyguards stopped just outside her door—hovering. Isla turned, forcing a tired but genuine smile for her friend and Andrew.
“Well ... good night.”
Juliette pulled her into a warm hug, squeezing her tightly. “I’m just a knock away. I’ll pop over early for breakfast—we can burn toast together and talk.”
Isla chuckled. “Thank you.”
Andrew looked like he wanted to talk, his expression suggesting he had far too much on his mind and not enough words to untangle it.
Before he could try, Isla gave them both a soft nod, slipped inside, and quietly shut the door.
The gentle click of the lock felt oddly sad.
She wanted to escape. Wanted to be alone.
She heard Mrs. Harris, the caretaker, in the hall. “Now Andrew, you know you are not allowed up here without letting me know first that you are calling on the ladies.”
Isla chuckled. She couldn’t hear his response, just his tone of voice, no doubt charming the old dear as she escorted him back toward the stairs.
She looked around at her apartment, small but full of character, lined with shelves of weathered botanical texts and scattered with pots of greenery she tended with affection.
A small settee as well as a single worn armchair sat by the hearth beneath a brass reading lamp, and a modest writing desk overflowed with lecture notes.
On the windowsill, a lone goldfish swam lazy circles in its bowl—her only roommate.
Her only family. A confidant to many late-night thoughts.
She exhaled slowly into the stillness, the door a barrier between her and everything waiting outside it. In reality, she didn’t actually want to be alone, but she feared that if people got too close, they would see the imposter she was. An orphaned girl with nothing to offer.
Isla walked over to Darwin and fed him a few fish pellets. He seemed grateful.
She sighed. “Ah, Darwin, you will never guess what happened today. But I am afraid my tale will have to wait; I need to lie down.” The fish didn’t respond, but he did swim around snatching up his pellets, so she guessed he cared that she was around.
Deciding to forgo dinner, Isla crossed the small sitting room and made her way into the bedroom.
Her class marking would have to wait. All she wanted now was sleep.
The space was sparse but peaceful, with a narrow bed tucked beneath the eaves and a cozy blanket folded neatly at its foot.
A chest of drawers stood beside a low bookshelf filled with field guides and pressed plant specimens, their delicate forms faded between vellum pages.
A single framed photograph sat on the nightstand—the cleaning lady from the orphanage, the one who had changed her future.
The sight made her chest tighten unexpectedly.
Opening the bottom drawer of her nightstand, she pulled out a small box.
Patchy looked back at her, the wooden spoon worn and odd looking.
She lifted it into her arms and brought it to her chest. A single tear escaped, and she wiped it away.
It had been a long time since she felt this fearful. This out of control.
Once in her nightgown and beneath the covers, she curled on her side, still clutching Patchy.
The wood was awkward, but it offered its own familiar comfort.
She worried she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Her head still throbbed dully, and her eyes drifted to the wilted plant she’d moved into her bedroom days ago, hoping to revive it.
It had been a gift to Juliette, and she had returned it panicked that she’d killed it.
Its once broad leaves were curled and crisp at the edges, brittle and pale with veins like paper.
The stems sagged under their own weight, the soil dry and hardened with neglect.
A pang of guilt pricked her as she realized she hadn’t watered it today, but she felt too exhausted to climb out of bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and sleep took her—deep and sudden.