Chapter Thirty-Three
December settled itself over York like a heavy quilt. The winds carried a biting edge, rattling the college windows and sweeping flurries of snow across the quadrangles. Sudden bursts of whiteness softened the spires and cobbles in a hush of frost.
The world seemed caught between stillness and storm—cold air so sharp it stole Isla’s breath when she walked between the campus and her apartment. Isla found herself living the steady rhythm of lectures and marking, the ordinary duties of academia.
But Isla’s mind was never far from the storm she knew was coming.
Edmund and Juliette had confirmed days ago, after questioning the prisoners, that the Ossa Arcana operated through a strict bottleneck system.
The captured men admitted that the so-called Council—those at the top—knew everything.
The middle ranks, men like themselves, understood only fragments of the plan through access to the book.
Those at the bottom knew nothing at all; they simply followed orders and took their pay, unaware of the larger design.
That was all Edmund and Juliette had managed to glean.
Even under pressure, the prisoners refused to give up names.
Whoever commanded them inspired a fear far greater than anything the constabulary could offer.
They knew Ray’s killer, yet they would not confess.
So here she was, going about her days, caught between the comfort of routine and the quiet pulse of fear.
Yet the ordinary moments were not without their magic.
Juliette, Edmund, George, and Andrew rotated guard duty, and instead of feeling stifled as she once had, Isla enjoyed their company.
Cozy nights with Juliette were spent by the fire, her friend absently stoking the flames with a flick of her palm between turning pages, the room glowing warm with their shared laughter.
Edmund, quiet and steadfast, spoke little, but his presence carried the weight of reassurance; when he was near, she felt as though the very air stood guard with him, calm and watchful.
George continued to teach her, and she was becoming quite proficient.
Andrew left her feeling seen and excited.
He had taken to leaving her small surprises.
A perfect snowflake glimmering on her nightstand—its crystalline arms perfectly intricate.
An ice-woven bowl on her table to keep fruit chilled, its rim catching the light like glass spun from stars.
He’d even snuck a miniature snowman into her office, where it perched smugly on her desk.
She had laughed out loud at the smirk he had managed to create on the face of the snowman with pebbles.
They didn’t melt ... reminding her how far they’d come; he had a knack for thawing her defenses.
With Christmas on the horizon, the thought of visiting the orphanage weighed on her heart, especially after the chaos of Guy Fawkes Night.
She had managed to see the children once she was well enough, determined to offer comfort to the little boy who still blamed himself and his sparkler.
She’d managed to soothe him somewhat, but she wanted to do more.
She wondered, hopefully, if Andrew might come with her. They had grown so close, yet she still hadn’t taken him to the orphanage. It was as if, by bringing him along, she would be opening the last door of her heart—allowing herself to care so deeply that the risk of losing would hurt all the more.
The notion of sharing that small tender world with him made her stomach flutter with nerves.
She knew it wasn’t her orphanage, but still it was a reminder of being left alone without knowing why.
She didn’t know the whole story of her birth—perhaps there was a good reason her parents had left her—but it had made her feel as if she wasn’t enough.
Knocking on the office door, Isla waited for Andrew to grant them access. Edmund stood quietly beside her, ready to hand her over to Andrew’s care for the afternoon.
The door opened, stopping her spiraling thoughts. Andrew appeared, his eyes settling on her.
“Thank you, Edmund. I’ll take it from here.”
Edmund nodded, gave a brief farewell, and strode off.
“So,” Andrew said, rubbing his hands together to ward off the drafty chill of the hall, “from what I can see, we’re both free this afternoon. Any ideas on how you’d like to spend it?”
Isla hesitated a moment, then said, “I was planning to visit the orphanage and deliver a few packages. Harold’s offered me the use of his car, and I wondered if you’d like to come along. I mean, you don’t have to; Harold offered one of his men to come as protection, but ...?”
Andrew’s gaze held hers, his eyes reflecting an understanding of the cost it had taken her to ask him to join her on an outing that held very personal meaning.
“It would be my pleasure. Let me grab my coat.”
He reemerged bundled up in preparation for the chill and extended his arm. Sliding hers into his, she allowed him to escort her toward the building’s exit. Olivia-May passed them, giving Isla a bright smile.
“Are we still on for tomorrow, Professor? This will be our last session before the Christmas holidays.”
“Absolutely! Tomorrow will be a fun session.”
The girl nodded in thanks and moved on.
“You’re a real role model for her, you know,” Andrew said. “As I’m sure you are for the children we’re about to visit.”
“It’s kind of you to say, but I don’t see myself as anyone special,” Isla murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden. A gust of wind blew as they exited the building to the car parked in front of the building, waiting.
Andrew placed his gloved hand over hers. “That’s what makes you even more remarkable, Isla—you don’t realize just how incredible you are.”
Before she could respond, they were climbing into the car, Harold’s driver holding the door open.
It was a sleek cream-and-black Rolls Royce, its polished exterior gleaming even in the gray winter light.
The chrome detailing caught the last glimmers of the afternoon sun, and the headlights threw a soft glow across the cobbles.
Climbing inside, Isla caught the smell of leather and polished wood, the bench seats upholstered in beige.
The small gifts for the orphanage lay in the boot, neatly wrapped, waiting for their delivery.
Andrew slid across the seat beside her, the warmth from the heater cutting through the cold, and Isla let herself sink slightly into the comfort of the car—and into the moment.
The driver opened his own door, letting in a sharp gust of cold air, then closed it again, shutting out the wind.
As the Rolls Royce glided out of the university grounds, Isla’s gaze drifted to the streets of York.
The city wore its winter coat: smoke curling from chimneys, shop signs frosted over, and pedestrians hurrying with scarves wrapped tight against the biting wind.
The cobbled streets gleamed faintly under the low December sun, and the distant spire of the Minster pierced the soft gray sky.
Isla became acutely aware of her inner surroundings, however, when she felt Andrew’s hands on hers.
She turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze, and the outside world seemed to fade.
Without breaking eye contact, he gently removed her gloves one at a time, his fingers brushing against hers.
Her cheeks warmed at the touch and the look in his eyes.
Lifting her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on her wrist, over the burned leather skin that peeked through.
“Thank you for inviting me to do this with you.”
She could feel the depth behind his words—he wasn’t just thanking her for the gesture itself, but for allowing him into a part of her she rarely shared. He understood, without a word, how much this visit meant to her, and how much trust it took to open her heart this way.
She gently squeezed his hand in response. “Thank you for being willing.”
“Always,” he replied quietly.
The rest of the journey passed in silence, broken only by the gentle rhythm of his touch. His thumb traced slow circular patterns across her palm, and then his fingers wandered delicately along the lines of her hand. Each careful movement sent a feeling of elation through her.
They reached the orphanage, a modest brick building tucked away from the busier streets.
Snow had drifted into soft mounds along the windowsills, and the wind rattled the old panes.
The war had left many children without homes, and Isla’s chest tightened at the memory of her own time spent in London at such a place.
“Would you mind helping me with the packages?” she asked.
“Absolutely. I’ve always wanted to play Santa,” Andrew said with a grin.
Isla let out a small giggle and ducked her head against the chill.
“This is exciting,” he continued. “What’s in the packages?”
“Oh, simple things,” she replied, lifting a basket full of small parcels and offering it to him. “I knit scarves throughout the year, and I pick up small wooden toys when I can find them.”
Andrew leaned close, his voice quiet, warm in her ear. “Like I said, you’re special.”
Her heart warmed at the words. She lifted a second basket full of packages and, with a nod to the driver, who had agreed to wait for them, together they walked toward the door, the cold biting at their cheeks, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet.
“You know,” Isla said, hesitating to knock as she traced her now-gloved hand along the doorframe, “as much as I love coming here, it always reminds me of how lonely it was when I was in such a place ... how frightening. The matron in London ruled with an iron fist.”
Andrew’s eyes softened, watching her speak. He didn’t rush her; the quiet patience was comforting.
“There was a cleaning lady,” Isla said after a pause.
“She befriended me ... became a grandmotherly figure in a strange little way. She was my light.” She shrugged, a small wistful gesture.
“She cleaned other buildings too and told me that all those who were successful read ... so I read. As much as I could. She’d even sneak me books from the library. ”
“So, you took on her challenge,” Andrew smiled.
Isla’s grin was small but proud. “Exactly. You know me—I like a challenge.”
“That you do.”
“Anyway, it’s just hard sometimes to be here; as much as I love the children, it brings back hard memories.”
“I can only imagine, but you aren’t alone anymore. And what you have achieved is amazing. What you have endured has made you into this incredible, empathetic woman who would brave the elements to bring joy to others.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said with a self-deprecating smile, her tone lightly teasing. “But ‘incredible’? I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Wait, did I just hear you correctly? Could you repeat something? Because I thought you just said I’m right.”
She nudged his arm with her shoulder. “Don’t let it go to that big head of yours.”
“A big head means a big brain, Isla. What can I say?”
“Yes, well, it is said a Stegosaurus has a brain the size of a walnut despite its massive body and big head.”
Andrew laughed as she knocked on the door. A lady opened it, encouraging them to step through the threshold. She motioned them to wait while she rounded up the children.
“Isla ...” Andrew’s voice was hesitant, gentle, as if approaching something fragile.
“Yes?” she said, her heart fluttering at the seriousness in his tone.
“Why are you afraid of storms? Did something happen when you were in the London orphanage?”
Isla took a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. She was tired of carrying the memory alone. He had seen her fear firsthand. At the time it had been so hard to be vulnerable, to explain. But not anymore.
“During one of the nights of the London bombings, the matron told us to hide under our beds. Then she ... left. Turned off the lights and left us alone. It was so cold and dark, and I could hear other girls crying. And then a bomb hit the building.”
Her voice wavered, and she hurried to add, glancing up at him, “I wasn’t hurt.
But I was trapped. For a long time ... alone.
I had a small gap where I could see outside, and then it started to rain, and the lightning .
.. I was so small, and I didn’t know if I would get out.
” She swallowed hard. “The fear never really left me.”
“Oh, Isla ...” Andrew’s hand reached for hers, but before he could speak further, an elderly lady appeared, calling out a greeting to them both. He greeted the lady politely, but he put his free arm around Isla’s waist.
She felt the warmth of having finally let him see more of her—the fragile, frightened parts of her. Someone she trusted. She trusted Andrew with all of herself, she realized.
Together they went into a small greeting room where the children waited, happy to see her.
Their eyes sparkled with excitement as they eyed the packages.
These children with so little were truly grateful for the smallest of offerings.
She hoped these gifts might bring even just a fraction of comfort.
“Isla!” A young girl named Lily rushed to her, seeming to give the others permission to do the same. “Have you brought presents?”
“I have indeed, along with my friend Andrew.”
“I am just the delivery boy. You have Isla to thank for these.”
The matron of the orphanage thanked them, encouraging the children to do the same.
She was a kind woman, a stark contrast to Isla’s experience, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for that.
Isla noticed a sprig of holly and other greenery about the room; clearly the staff had tried to help make the room look festive, though it all looked a little wilted.
Isla couldn’t help walking to the fireplace, her hands behind her back, and using her Aetheric gifts to bring life back into the foliage a little—a subtle change, but one she hoped would bring some cheer.
Andrew joined her at the fireplace, his eyes on a boy flying a wooden airplane around the room.
“I saw that, Professor.” His blue eyes sparkled over at her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, when you come back to visit here again, may I join you?” He nodded toward the boy with the plane. “We may have another professor in the making here.”
“I would like that.”
“Only like?”
She smiled at him. “Okay, I’d love it if you could join me on future visits.”
“Yes,” he replied. “Love is a much better word.”
Isla blushed at his double meaning as she turned and joined in playing with the children. For the first time in weeks, Isla allowed herself to relax entirely and just be present in the moment.