Chapter Fifteen
Twobble broke the tension by gasping as if someone had just suggested arson over tea.
“Oh no,” he said loudly. “Absolutely not. He is not teaching at this fine establishment.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He pointed an accusatory finger across the room at Gideon, then swept his arm wide to encompass the space around us.
“I will not have the former controller of Shadowick lecturing impressionable minds on anything. Especially not here. Especially not in—” He stopped short, squinted, and sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh, no.”
I followed his gaze at last, really looked around instead of letting the room fade into the background of my anxiety.
The chalkboard.
The wide practice floor.
The faded diagrams etched into the walls, all wards and counter-curses and carefully annotated warnings.
The classroom.
Practical Applications: Confronting the Dark Arts.
“Oh,” I said faintly.
Stella nodded, lips pursed in grim satisfaction. “Yes. Oh.”
Twobble threw his hands into the air. “See? See? The Academy is already being cheeky about it.”
“That’s not why…” I started, then stopped, because the Academy hummed, just a touch louder, and I had the uneasy sense it was listening.
I shook my head. “No. That was never in my cards.”
Keegan glanced at me, not at Gideon, not at Twobble, but at me, and something in his expression tensed. He studied my face the way he did when he was reading the room through me, measuring how much weight I was carrying without saying it.
For a split second, something fluttered low in my belly. It wasn’t butterflies suddenly pulling me to him, but something steadier and warmer. The awareness that he cared enough to be watching this closely.
Jealousy?
Probably not.
Concerned. More likely.
“I’m not appointing him to anything,” I said calmly, turning back to Twobble before my thoughts could wander further off course. “I’m not hiring, assigning, or mentoring anyone. Especially not Gideon.”
Twobble narrowed his eyes. “But.”
“But,” I agreed, “it’s also not my decision.”
That gave everyone pause.
“The Academy chooses its professors,” I continued evenly. “It always has. It puts out the call when it wants knowledge returned to disseminate.”
Ardetia nodded, serene as ever. “That’s true.”
Bella, who’d turned to leaning against a desk with her arms crossed, straightened and nodded as well. “Happened to me. I didn’t apply. I was informed.”
Twobble grimaced. “That explains a lot.”
Gideon hadn’t spoken through any of this. He stood a few paces away, posture neutral, expression unreadable, as though he were deliberately refusing to participate in speculation about his future.
Which I didn’t trust.
The Academy hummed again, not approving or denying our conversation.
“That doesn’t mean it’s happening,” I said firmly. “It means the Academy is aware of him. That’s all.”
Stella arched a brow. “The Academy rarely notices without intent.”
“I’m aware,” I replied. “But intent doesn’t equal immediacy.”
Before anyone could argue further, footsteps sounded behind us, accompanied by an indignant, very familiar croak.
My shoulders slumped.
Lady Limora swept into view like she owned the corridor, velvet skirt whispering, silver hair immaculate, eyes gleaming with the delight of someone who’d discovered fresh chaos and intended to savor it.
Mara followed close behind, arms crossed, expression long-suffering.
Vivienne was already scribbling notes on a floating page.
Opal practically vibrated with curiosity.
And dangling upside down from Lady Limora’s hand…
“Oh for the love of—” I muttered.
Alex croaked loudly.
“I found him wandering again,” Lady Limora announced cheerfully. “Attempting to investigate the wine cellar. Bold for someone without thumbs.”
Twobble groaned. “Why is he still amphibious? I can’t express enough just how tempting that is to the goblin faction.”
Lady Limora widened her smile just enough to reveal her fangs, and I felt a shiver, not for me. For my ex.
I had to remind myself that Celeste was asleep, safe and sound, curled up in my bed like she used to be when storms rolled through.
And yet here I was, standing in a dark arts classroom at dawn, discussing theoretical teaching appointments for Stonewick’s greatest enemy while my ex-husband dangled upside down in the Academy by an ancient vampire’s fingertips.
Everything slammed back into me at once.
The absurdity.
The danger.
The fact that Alex was in the building.
The fact that Gideon was trying to leave.
The fact that some part of me didn’t want him to.
Lady Limora tilted her head at me. “You look pale, dear.”
“I’m processing,” I said honestly.
Alex swung slightly and croaked again, and my dad snorted from the hallway, unimpressed.
I rubbed my temples and took a breath, grounding myself in the stone beneath my feet, the steady presence of the Academy, the knowledge that Celeste was safe for now.
For some strange reason—no, for several very clear and alarming reasons—I was trying to convince Stonewick’s enemy not to leave.
I lifted my gaze and met Gideon’s eyes across the room.
He didn’t look triumphant.
He didn’t look pleased. He looked… resigned.
And that unsettled me far more than arrogance ever had.
“We’re not doing this here,” I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else. “Not right now.”
The Academy hummed, deep and patient, as if agreeing.
Somewhere inside the stone building, decisions were already forming.
And I had the uneasy feeling that no matter how loudly Twobble protested, no matter how firmly I insisted otherwise, the Academy had already started placing pieces back on the board.
We started to drift out of the classroom the way people do after an argument that hasn’t actually ended, conversations overlapping, decisions pretending to be casual when they very much were not.
I hadn’t taken three steps before Lady Limora clasped her hands together brightly, nearly smacking my ex in his gut. Opal gasped and snatched him from Lady Limora before he became an amphibious pancake.
“Well then,” she said, already turning toward Gideon, “if you’re leaving, we should absolutely help you pack. No sense doing it haphazardly. The Academy has opinions about that sort of thing.”
Ardetia nodded, serene and practical. “I can help organize charms for travel. Leaving improperly shielded would be… unwise, and mine would be less of a target.”
Bella chimed in with a grin. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget anything important. People always forget the one thing that matters.”
Twobble puffed out his chest. “I’ll supervise. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t sneak off with anything charmed.”
I stopped short.
“What—” I began, then faltered as I realized Gideon wasn’t objecting.
In fact, he looked… pleased.
There was a lift to his posture, a spark of something almost relieved, as if the decision had been made for him and he could finally stop pretending otherwise. His gaze flicked to mine, quick and assessing, as if checking whether I’d noticed.
I had.
“You’re all very efficient,” he said lightly. “I hadn’t realized my departure would be such a group effort.”
Lady Limora waved a hand. “We’re nothing if not hospitable, especially with exits.”
I opened my mouth to rein things back in, but the words never came. Part of me was still reeling from the idea that everyone had so easily slid into agreement, that the room had collectively decided yes, this is happening, while another part of me felt the weight of inevitability pressing down.
So I walked.
We moved down the corridor together, a strange procession of witches, fae, goblins, and one former shadow-mage who looked far too comfortable with the idea of leaving again.
I caught Keegan’s eye as we walked, and something in his expression stiffened, his attention fixed not on Gideon but on the walls themselves.
The Academy’s hum deepened.
The corridor narrowed.
And, without warning, the stone ahead of us shuddered.
I barely had time to register the shift before the wall at the end of the hall slid down from the ceiling with a resonant thud, sealing the passage completely. Ancient runes flared once, vivid and unmistakable, before settling into a dull, relentless glow.
I hopped back instinctively, heart lurching.
“What in the—” Bella started.
Keegan’s jaw clenched as he took a step forward, studying the wall with a shifter’s wary focus.
“The Academy isn’t exactly being subtle.”
“No,” I said faintly. “It rarely is when it feels strongly.”
Gideon stared at the wall, disbelief flashing quickly into irritation. His shoulders squared into that familiar resistance emerging like a reflex.
He did not like being blocked.
“You have to be joking,” he said. “Is this some sort of… architectural suggestion?”
The wall didn’t respond, but the hum beneath our feet deepened again, unmistakably smug.
Gideon turned toward me slowly. “Tell me there’s another way out of this area.”
I met his gaze and, despite everything, felt a wry smile curve my mouth.
“Of course there is.”
His brow lifted. “Of course.”
“The Academy always leaves itself options,” I added. “It just prefers people to find them.”
I didn’t actually think that was the case this time. The Academy’s actions felt too definite, and if it didn’t want Gideon to leave, then it took matters into its own hands.
Twobble groaned. “I hate when buildings do this.”
I turned and started down the side corridor without waiting, trusting the Academy to guide us, or misguide us, as it saw fit. Footsteps followed behind me.
The halls ahead seemed cooperative enough at first. Lanterns lit in sequence. Doors stayed where they were supposed to. Even the air felt… accommodating.
Gideon walked silently beside me now, but his irritation simmered just beneath the surface. I could feel his annoyance. He wasn’t someone who accepted obstruction lightly, and the Academy’s interference was clearly testing the limits of his patience.
“This isn’t what I agreed to,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I replied.
“You’re telling me that wall wasn’t your doing?”
“It wasn’t me.”
He let out a breath. “Then your Academy is overstepping.”
I glanced at him. “It thinks it’s protecting something.”
“Or controlling it,” he shot back.
“Sometimes,” I said carefully, “those look the same from the inside.”
We reached a stairwell that spiraled down into shadows. It was the sort of wide, familiar path that led toward the outer halls, which eventually led toward the main doors.
For a brief, fragile moment, it felt like the Academy had relented.
“So,” Twobble said conversationally, hands clasped behind his head, “once Gideon hightails it out of here, do we think the walls will apologize or just pretend this never happened?”
The stairs vanished.
Vanished.
One moment, they were there, stone worn smooth by midlife students over the countless years, and the next, they were simply… not. Empty air yawned where they’d been, the corridor ending abruptly at a sheer drop that disappeared into nothing but softly glowing mist.
Bella yelped and stumbled back.
Lady Limora laughed outright. “Oh, that’s bold.”
Ardetia tilted her head, studying the empty space. “That is a firm no.”
I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.
“The Academy really doesn’t want you leaving,” I said to Gideon.
He stared at the void and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m starting to get that impression.”
The hum beneath our feet thrummed, deep and satisfied, as if the Academy itself had just crossed its arms.
And in that moment, with walls blocking us behind and nothing but absence ahead, it became painfully clear that this wasn’t about exits at all.
The Academy wasn’t done with Gideon.
Whether any of us liked it or not.