3. Elowen
ELOWEN
I’m still thinking about Gideon Stockwell when we get back to the academy. His card feel like an elephant in my pocket, weighing me down, and I’m starting to question why I took it.
What is he hoping to find? How will I even know what to look for? And if I discovered anything untoward, would I call him or would I go directly to the police?
Too many questions, and classes haven’t even begun yet.
The fun part of getting to know my peers first has been obliterated with one man’s quest for truth, and I don’t know how to get back on track.
Until we walk into the dining hall and I realize that no one else seems to be having the same problem. Everyone is gathered around a few tables at the back of the hall, and everyone has something to say.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Only one way to find out.” Lila is already navigating the tables to join in, so I follow her.
Closer, and I see that several tables have been allocated for students to sign up for social activities. I recognize the stained waistcoat behind one table, his friend in the sporty polo behind another, and the omega who knows Calder behind a third.
My gaze lingers on her. Instead of the sailor top, she’s wearing a neat white tank trimmed with red gems and red cherry earrings. Behind her are posters announcing a winter-themed ball.
“A Christmas ball.” Lila noticed it too. “I’m in.” She heads straight to the table and adds her name to the already sizeable list.
I mingle with the crowd, checking out the competition first. The guy in the waistcoat is advocating for a debate team. His friend at the next table is surrounded by students, so I can’t see his suggestion, but I’m guessing it’s the more popular option.
Waistcoat guy’s face fills with color when he notices me, and he keeps his eyes down on the list in front of him. It has a few signatures, and I find myself smiling, happy that his debate team isn’t being completely overlooked.
I step forward to apologize again for my clumsiness in the café when a familiar smoky scent of cedar and cold air catches me unawares. Calder takes my elbow and gently steers me towards the middle table.
“Can I interest you in signing up for bowling?”
I find myself standing in front of the guy in the sports shirt, whose dazzling smile makes my lips react of their own accord. “The more the merrier,” he says. “We can have a tournament if enough people sign up.”
His scent mingles with Calder’s: maple syrup and summer grass, a heady combination.
“I…”
Lila appears from nowhere, picks up the pen, and adds her name to the list. “I’ll add your name too, Elowen.”
“I’m not sure…” I don’t ’ve never been bowling before.
“Done.” She straightens, links her arm with mine, and pulls me toward the food counter before I can protest. “You’re welcome,” she says, her voice low.
“For what?”
“Rescuing you from debate team.”
I glance back at the guy in the waistcoat who is watching me with an unreadable expression. The alpha at the middle table is mid-conversation with Calder and some other students.
But the omega on the third table doesn’t even pretend to look away when I catch her eye.
Later, I step inside the greenhouse and close the door behind me, taking a moment away from the buzz of the dining hall and the images of Gideon Stockwell lurking in my mind.
The glass panes overhead glow faintly gold as the sun dips lower. Dust floats lazily through the warmth. I set my bag on the potting table and pull my gloves on, rolling the cuffs down with practiced ease.
Then I sense him, his smoky cedar scent, and my heart reacts with a little skip and a jump against my better judgement.
Calder stands near the far wall, sweater pushed to his elbows, worn jeans dusty at the knees.
A loose hinge rests in one hand, screwdriver on the bench beside him.
The compass tattoo on his inner forearm catches the fading light, clean black lines pointing north.
Those gray eyes find mine briefly before returning to his work.
We don't speak.
I go to the workbench and try to focus on the pots left behind by whoever was here last rather than the thought of going bowling with Calder and a bunch of other students I haven’t yet met.
Maybe I can convince Lila to come bowling with me before the first planned event.
It can’t be that difficult, can it? Or better still, maybe I can ask polo shirt guy to remove my name from the list without telling her.
It’ll buy me some time to think of an excuse not to go.
Focus, Elowen…
The soil in the pots is dry, cracked in places. I press my fingers in, testing the depth, then begin loosening it carefully, aware of Calder watching me.
The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but it feels as if he’s waiting for me to open the conversation. He’ll have a long wait. I saw the way the omega looked at me like I was stepping on her perfectly manicured toes.
"You know this place isn't maintained," he says eventually.
"I noticed."
He glances at me briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It'll take time."
"I have time." That earns me another look, longer this time. I shrug. "Plants don't rush. People do."
He smiles for real this time, and heat pools low in my belly. "Is that philosophy or experience?"
"Both." I’ve thought about it a lot since my parents died, but I’m not oversharing.
He nods, as if that's enough.
He finishes tightening the hinge, testing it on the cupboard door, satisfied when it swings smoothly.
I pull the gloves off and reach into my bag, drawing out three small packets wrapped in brown paper, each labeled in my grandmother's careful handwriting.
Chamomile. Lavender. Feverfew.
I set them beside the pots I've prepared, lining them up carefully, forcing myself not to meet his eyes. I haven’t figured out why he’s here yet, but I’m certain he won’t stick around for long now that his girlfriend is here.
I don’t want to get too comfortable with him being here.
It will only mean adapting to his absence once he has moved on.
I unwrap the first packet, chamomile, and pour a few seeds into my palm. Tiny, almost dust-like. They need light to germinate, so I scatter them across the surface of the soil rather than burying them, pressing gently with my fingertips to ensure contact.
"What is that?" Calder asks, voice quiet.
"Chamomile," I say. "For calming. Sleep. Nervous digestion. The chamomile will need a close eye because the soil tends to dry quickly.” I make a mental note to water in the morning before classes.
I move to the next pot, finding my rhythm when I don’t meet his stormy eyes, and open the lavender packet. These seeds are slightly larger, darker. I press them into the soil, barely covered, enough to anchor.
"And that one?"
"Lavender. For clarity. Helps with restlessness and headaches." I glance up briefly and silently berate myself for not being stronger. "It's hardy once established. Doesn't need much attention."
His mouth quirks slightly.
"My grandmother taught me," I add for no reason.
I wait for him to ask more.
He doesn't.
Instead, he shifts to another bench and begins clearing space, moving broken pots aside, stacking them neatly.
Juniper appears from beneath a shelf, tail high, cloudy eye blinking in the gentle light. She crosses the floor and settles herself squarely between us, as if marking neutral ground.
"Hello again," I murmur.
Calder's gaze drops to her, something softer passing briefly through his eyes. "She's decided this place belongs to her."
"She has excellent taste."
That earns me a huff of laughter, and I smile down at the soil, warmth coursing through me. Is it because I made him laugh? Or is it the way his face lights up when he isn’t so serious?
I focus on the seeds so that I don’t have to think about it.
Time moves differently here. Light shifts. Shadows lengthen. The greenhouse warms, then slowly begins to cool as we adjust to the temperature.
Eventually, Calder wipes his hands on a cloth and steps back. "I can come and make myself useful later in the evenings," he says, not quite looking at me. "If you… want the space."
I swallow the flush of disappointment and remind myself that it’s better this way. For everyone concerned. "Thank you."
He nods once, satisfied.
He’s still staring at me as though he’s waiting for me to prolong the conversation and give him a reason to stay when the door opens.
The omega with the designer luggage and a claim on Calder.
Heat rushes up my neck and into my face as though she just caught me kissing her boyfriend. Or as though she knew I was thinking about it. Which is just as bad.
“Ginny said she’d seen you heading this way.” She spots me, and her eyes narrow briefly. She arches an eyebrow when her gaze tracks down to my hands in the soil, a look of distaste twisting her mouth into an unpleasant shape. “It’s late.”
Calder’s expression doesn’t falter. “Sophie, this is Elowen.”
“Elowen,” she repeats. “New girl.”
I bristle. “Just Elowen.” I smile at her until she looks away, my heart hammering.
“Are you coming, Calder?” There’s an edge to her voice now.
He inhales deeply. “Yeah, I was just leaving.”
He hesitates then moves toward the door and pauses, glancing back at the tables, at the pots beginning to fill. I sense his eyes lingering on me, but I refuse to acknowledge them.
Then Sophie links her arm with his and the door closes gently behind them.
I open the third packet, refusing to follow them with my eyes. New girl. She probably meant nothing by it, so why am I letting it get to me?
Who am I kidding? She meant it exactly as it was received.
“Focus, Elowen.” Deep breath.
Feverfew seeds, powder fine. These go into the last prepared pot, scattered across moistened soil. I press them gently into place and step back.
The greenhouse smells like earth and cedar, only now there’s a faint scent of caramel lingering in the air.
Sophie. Of course.
“Stupid,” I mutter to Juniper, who is sitting on the workbench staring at the door like she might bring him back with her magical cloudy eye. “I came here to learn, not to get sidetracked by a good-looking alpha.”
But my fluttering heart is warning me that it might be too late.