Chapter 3 Cendi
CENDI
Robbie walked me 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.”
“Freddie,” I said. The name was a pebble in my shoe. “He vanished behind a door. I can’t decide if that’s the most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard or the saddest.”
“Both can be true.” Robbie sank onto the edge of the bed, careful not to dislodge Tilly, who had returned to loaf up. He looked up at me. “Do you think he was a teacher?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or some kind of renovation specialist. Vanderflit goes tight around the eyes when he says the name. That’s not how you talk about an acquaintance. He cares about this man, whoever he is.”
Simon fetched the sparkly mouse and presented it to Robbie with the solemnity of a knight offering a sword.
Robbie tossed it. Simon tore off after it, paws skidding on stone as Robbie said, “If the key opens any door, how did it end up with the Lizard Wizard? How was it even taken from the academy? And if the academy once had the key, did they just immediately lose it after Freddie walked through that door? I’m trying to make sense of it all, but I can’t seem to.
The way I see it, they should be more careful with a key like that.
In the wrong hands that could be very dangerous. ”
I poured the hot water over the tea, then handed him a mug. “Ava and Drew will have diagrams by breakfast, I’m sure.”
He chuckled. “They do have that air.”
We sipped and let the quiet settle. I leaned against the wall, watching Robbie more than the cats.
He was handsome in a kind, sturdy way, like someone had carved him with the intention that he be useful.
His past life had given him steady habits, and they fit him.
The Academy had given him mischief, and that fit too.
“Thank you for today,” I said.
“For what?”
“For the party,” I said. “For building a nest of blankets when the world wanted to be sharp edges.”
He ducked his head, pleased. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“I know,” I said. “But I like to.”
He stood, set his mug down, and crossed the room. We met in the middle. His hand came up to my cheek. No rush. No demand. Just a question I’d already answered.
We kissed. Not the kind of kiss that tries to write the whole book in a paragraph, just the first page with a very promising sentence.
A rustle. A chirp. A thump.
Simon landed on my shoulder like a pirate’s parrot. Tilly leapt to the nightstand and meowed at my teacup as if objecting to the herbal blend. We broke apart, laughing, and I carefully relocated Simon to the floor. He immediately put his feet on Robbie’s shoe and kneaded him like dough.
“We’re outnumbered,” Robbie said, mock-solemn.
“They were here first,” I said. “House rules.”
We made a game of it, pets, treats, wand toy, repeat, until the cats tired themselves into puddles. The room settled again. The castle hummed quietly. I sank onto the bed beside Robbie, shoulder to shoulder, and the nearness of him calmed everything that had been on a simmer.
“What if the key isn’t just a key,” I asked, “but a test? Like, whoever goes after it has to prove they’re desperate enough to try. Or foolish.”
“Or both,” he said.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I flopped back and squinted at the screen. Emily. The name brightened me from the inside out, the way it always did. I glanced at Robbie. He nodded, already sliding off the bed to give me space he didn’t need to give.
I answered. “Hey, baby.”
“Mom?” Emily sounded surprised, like she’d called to leave a message and hadn’t actually expected a human person to answer. “You’re awake?”
“Very,” I said. “Just hanging out.” My gaze flicked to Robbie, who had perched in my desk chair, trying to look nonchalant with Simon now installed across his thighs like a lion skin. The cat gave me a slow blink that read as approval.
“Are you watching TV alone like a gremlin?” Emily asked. “Please don’t tell me you started that true crime show again. It makes you paranoid.”
“I resent that,” I said cheerfully. “And no. I am not watching anything. I’m with a friend.”
“A friend,” she repeated, putting air quotes around it with her tone.
“A perfectly respectable friend,” I said. “Who is very good at wrangling cats.”
“Wait, are you actually out out?”
“In,” I said. “But yes. I’m seeing someone.” The words edged out of me before I could second-guess them. There it was. Out loud. A door opened that didn’t need a magic key.
Emily squealed. “What? Who? Mom!”
I covered the receiver and mouthed, I’m sorry to Robbie, who grinned like he’d just been handed popcorn at the good part of a movie.
“He’s nice,” I said. “He’s kind. He used to have a very official job, one of those jobs where you wear a uniform and know how to fix things under pressure. He’s retired now. Which means he can, you know, help me carry laundry.”
“I am dying,” Emily said, delighted. “What’s his name? Is he your age? Is he tall? Does he like cats? Scratch that, if he’s with you in your room, he has to like cats. Is he weird about tea? Does he believe in breakfast for dinner?”
“Robbie,” I said, smiling at him as if the name tasted good. “Yes. Yes. Yes. No.” I looked at Robbie. “Do you like to eat breakfast for dinner?
He nodded eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Mom,” Emily said, drawing out the vowels as her voice softened. “You sound happy.”
I breathed for a second. “I am. Not every second. But right now, yes.”
“Good,” she said. “About time you had more than cats in your bed.”
“Don’t be crass,” I said, scandalized and laughing.
She laughed too, then yawned. “We’re up late. My friends dragged me out and then abandoned me for tacos, but it’s fine, I found better tacos.”
“North Carolina tacos are a crime,” I said.
“You are such a snob.” Another yawn. “I’m glad you’re not alone, Mom. You need people. Hobbies. A man, maybe.”
“You’re very wise for a child,” I said.
“I’m twenty-two,” she said, with a sniff.
“Still a child,” I said. “Are you headed home now?”
“Almost. I’m good, I promise. Oh, um.” A new note crept into her voice, tentative but excited. “I might be seeing someone too.”
My heart did a funny little leap. “Oh?” I sat up straighter. Robbie did too, like we were a choreographed duet of nosiness.
“It’s new,” Emily said. “Very new. And I don’t want to jinx it by saying too much. But he’s funny. And he listens. He’s sweet with his sister. And he doesn’t mind that I’m a little intense about my program. Which is new for me.”
“Good,” I said, slow and sincere. “I like all of that.”
“You’ll meet him when I’m ready,” she said.
“I’ll bring cookies and questions,” I said.
“Oh no,” she groaned. “Not the cookies. I will literally die if you bring baked goods to a first meet.”
“I’m your mother,” I said. “Weaponized carbs are my love language.”
She snorted. “Okay, Gremlin. I’m going to bed. Text me a photo of him tomorrow so I can judge his eyebrows.”
I glanced at Robbie’s very respectable eyebrows. “I will not be doing that,” I said primly.
“Love you,” she sing-songed.
“Love you more,” I said, and hung up before the game could continue.
I stared at the ceiling for a breath, then rolled to look at Robbie. He had the sort of smile that starts in the eyes, small and bright. Simon had surrendered to sleep and sprawled open like a soft loaf across his thighs.
“So,” he said, “you told your daughter about me.”
It was strange the way his words made my heart race.
Telling my daughter about him seemed so…
official. I mean, we were official, at least I thought so.
I told myself to chill and take a few breaths.
He’d heard the whole thing and didn’t seem the least bit concerned about what I’d said, so I shouldn’t be either. I needed to get out of my head.
“I did,” I said, surprised by how easy that had been once I’d done it. “She approves. She wants to see your eyebrows.”
“They are, obviously, spectacular.” He smoothed them confidently.
“I agree,” I said.
We grinned at each other like kids with a secret. Except, we had many secrets since coming to the academy. Just not secrets between each other. The night stretched around us. The late night growing even later.
“I should go,” he said, gently moving Simon to the bed. Simon glared at both of us before settling down beside Tilly.
“I’ll walk you,” I said, standing. We hovered by the door, suddenly shy after all our boldness.
He touched my cheek again. No rush. No demand. Just us standing in a doorway we could step through or not. I rose on my toes and kissed him again.
“Goodnight, Cendi,” he said.
“Goodnight, Robbie.”
He slipped into the corridor. I watched him walking away, then shut the door gently and leaned against it for a second.
It was still so strange to me how my life had gone from boring and lonely, to this, in the blink of an eye.
It felt both like I’d known Robbie all my life, and like I was getting to know this amazing person for the first time. I liked this feeling.
The room was warm and small in the best way. A perfect place to rest after a long day of being mostly very happy. I turned off the lamps, slid under the blanket, and arranged myself around the cats without disturbing their delicate positions.
The day, which had started with hunters and questions and a blue-lit echo of me stealing what wasn’t mine, ended with one small certainty. I wasn’t moving through the maze alone. That counted.
I closed my eyes and slid into a dreamless dark, the good kind, the kind that promised morning would come and bring coffee and answers and, if I was lucky, another kiss.