Omega at Elderwood Academy (Elderwood Hollow #1)

1. Elowen

ELOWEN

"Are you ready, Elowen?" My grandmother Mira hesitates in the doorway when she finds me sitting cross-legged on the floor of her potting room, surrounded by pots of herbs as if I’m conducting an orchestra.

Her voice softens as she comes in and kneels slowly, bones creaking like an old house.

"Did you find the answer you were looking for? "

I drag my braid forward over my shoulder, tickle my nose with the soft black tips of my hair the way I’ve done since I was a little girl, and toss it behind me again.

I smile. “Yes.” Firm. “I’m ready.”

I stand up and hold her hand while she eases herself back onto her feet. If I’d not allowed my thoughts to wander around the brochure images of Elderwood Academy for so long, I could’ve prevented her discomfort.

“Let me get you—” I begin.

She cuts me off by squeezing my hand. “You don’t need to worry about me, Elowen. This is your journey. It’s your time now.”

I nod. I could’ve left for college a year ago, but I deferred because I never imagined setting off for my first term at the Academy without my parents to wave me off and wish me luck.

When they died, nothing made sense anymore.

What was the point of attending the omega college they chose for me when they were no longer there to witness it? Who was I doing it for?

Me or them?

Also, I couldn’t bear to leave Mira here all alone when she was still grieving for her only daughter.

It didn’t feel right. Any of it. So, instead, I extended my home schooling in grandma’s cottage by twelve months, learning everything there is to know about herbs, the way Mira learned from her own grandmother.

Until I felt healed.

“I’ll call as often as I can.” I smile.

“Ach, you’ll do no such thing. If you call me on a Friday evening when you could be spending time with your new friends, I won’t pick up.”

I chuckle. She’s serious. “Don’t forget the faulty knob on the oven. If you don’t push it in when you turn it—”

“It won’t switch off. I know.” The gleam in her eyes could easily dissolve into tears and probably will when she has the cottage all to herself again.

“And the stray ginger cat likes tuna, not sardines.”

“He wouldn’t know the difference if you hadn’t spoiled him,” she counters.

I suck my top lip until it disappears. “How do you know it’s a him?” All this time she told me not to encourage the stray’s visits, when I knew she secretly looked forward to them.

“Lucky guess.”

She reaches for the bag resting on the chair.

It's old. Hand-stitched. Thick fabric worn smooth with time, dyed in deep gold and rust tones that catch the morning light.

Delicate embroidery runs along the edges, flowers and curling leaves worked in a style that doesn't belong to this place, or even this country.

The bag smells faintly of spice and sun-warmed cloth.

My great-great-grandmother carried a bag like this once.

Mira settles the strap over my shoulder, adjusting it so it rests comfortably against my side.

"You don't have to go," she says gently. "If you’re worried about the omega who died before the summer break…"

I swallow. Lydia Jones wasn’t the first omega to die at Elderwood Academy.

Iris Stockwell died at the beginning of the same school year, then another omega called Shannon McCartney died in February.

But their deaths have nothing to do with my reluctance to leave here, and everything to do with the woman standing in front of me.

"I want to go, grandma." I hold her gaze and watch realization slowly settle on her shoulders.

"Oh, Elowen… "

"It’s fine, grandma. I wasn’t ready a year ago."

"And now you are." She cups my face with her scratchy palm and gives me a small smile.

I follow her through to the small foyer where my suitcase waits by the door. She presses a small tin into my hand. Dull metal, edges softened with age.

"For the first night," she says. "Grounding blend. Nothing fancy."

I open the lid carefully. The scent rises immediately—juniper leaf, citrus peel, a whisper of chamomile beneath. Simple. Effective. The kind of blend that settles without sedating.

"Juniper for clarity," I sound like grandma now repeating what she taught me. "Citrus to lift. Chamomile to ground."

Her mouth curves faintly. “Elderwood is lucky to have you.”

The car ride is quiet, the kind that doesn't need filling.

The academy rises ahead of us as the gravel drive curves through trees, honey-colored stone softened by ivy, tall windows catching the afternoon light.

It was once a mansion owned by the Elderwood family, old money, distant relations to the royal family.

I picture horse-drawn carriages rolling up outside the entrance, the butler waiting to greet guests with a formal bow, visitors in big puffy dresses carrying a parasol to shield their pale skin from the sunlight.

The building doesn't loom, that would be far too vulgar.

It waits.

Mira parks, lifts my suitcase from the trunk, and walks me to the front steps. No lists. No reminders. She smooths an imaginary crease from my sleeve and steps back.

"You don't have to be the same everywhere," she says quietly. "Just be honest where you are."

"I will." Tears sting my eyes, but I won’t let her see me cry. It would be too easy to climb back into the passenger seat, go back to the cottage and immerse myself in the comfort of the warm potting room. “I learned from the best.”

She hugs me, brief and sure. “Remember, you always have a home to come back to.” Then she gets back in the car and drives away, the sound of tires on gravel fading into the trees.

I stand there with the gold-toned bag warm against my side and something steady in my chest.

Then I turn and walk inside.

The front doors open without ceremony. Warm air greets me, scented faintly with old paper and citrus. A sign on the wall reads NEW ARRIVALS →.

I follow it.

"Welcome to Elderwood Academy." The woman behind the desk smiles with deep dimples. "You must be Elowen Rowan. I’m Ms. Hartley."

She slides a folder toward me, and a brass key on a wooden tag carved with a leaf. "You’re in Hawthorn Hall. Second floor. West-facing. The quiet side. My favorite, but don’t tell the other students."

I don’t know what I expected, but it isn’t this casual greeting as if Elderwood Academy and I are old acquaintances.

Ms. Hartley spreads an A4 sized map on her desk and marks Hawthorn Hall with a cross.

“You can go through the building, but it’s a maze.

Trust me, it’s easier to go out the front door, turn right, and enter through what used to be the servants’ entrance.

It’ll give you a chance to view the grounds.

You’ll spot the greenhouse on the edge of campus behind the walled garden.

” She pauses. “Too much information, sorry. You’ll find your way around in no time. ”

“Thank you.” I take the map, my eyes immediately searching for, and locating, the greenhouse. Five minutes, and I’ve already ditched the small kernel of anxiety that accompanied me here in the car. “Can students access the greenhouse?”

Her smile is warm. “Be our guest, although it might not be quite what you expect.”

I go to walk away, and Ms. Hartley stops me.

“Sorry, one last thing, Elowen. We’ve introduced regular health checks for omegas this year.” The smile is tight now, trying not to undermine the serious announcement. “Nothing invasive, and of course, you can opt out if you wish. But I’m sure you’ll understand the reason behind the decision.”

“I understand.” Three omega deaths in one school year. Three lives lost prematurely. Three red crosses on Elderwood’s report.

It casts a grim shadow over my first impressions of the school as I follow her directions.

My room is small, the window facing trees. I dump my suitcase and bag on the single bed and scan the grounds for a glimpse of the greenhouse in the distance. Excitement ignites like a tiny flame somewhere deep inside despite the solemnity of Ms. Hartley’s introduction.

I'm unpacking my suitcase, hanging sweaters and skirts in the narrow closet when a knock sounds at the door.

I cross the room and open it to find an omega, petite, with warm brown skin and black hair piled in a messy bun that's already escaping. She's wearing an oversized forest green sweater that falls past her hands and leggings, and fuzzy socks with tiny foxes on them.

Her smile is immediate and unguarded.

"Hi! I'm Lila. Lila Chen. Room 212, right next door." She gestures vaguely to her left. “I arrived yesterday. Long story involving cancelled trains and very important business meetings that simply couldn’t be rescheduled.” She rolls her eyes, and I find myself smiling.

"Elowen." I open the door wider. Lila has that effect, her energy reaching its destination before she does.

"Beautiful name." She leans against the doorframe and peers around me at the suitcase on the bed. "First year?"

"Yes."

"Me too." Her dark eyes are warm, curious without being invasive. "I've got extra hangers if you need them, a fan if your room's stuffy, tea if you're a tea person…"

I chuckle; her enthusiasm is infectious. "Tea always." I pause. “Do you want to come in?”

"I thought you’d never ask." She grins, sidestepping around me. "I won't keep you. I just wanted to say hi and let you know I'm around if you need anything. You’re only the second student I’ve spoken to since I arrived."

For the last twelve months, there’s only been me and Mira, and I hadn’t realized how out of practice I am at making conversation. I feel like a bear emerging from hibernation and trying to remember how the world looked before winter set in.

"Did Ms. Hartley mention…" I begin.

She cuts me off when she spots the embroidered bag. "This is gorgeous, Elowen.” She drags her fingers across the stitching. “You should see the Michael Kors bag my mom made me bring. Sometimes, I wonder if she remembers I’m only eighteen.”