Chapter 7 Shelter From the Storm
“I can walk you home,” Professor Ward said.
I shook my head, still trying to catch my breath. “I don’t want to go back yet.”
His brow furrowed. “Ms. Blumenthal—”
“Not like this.” My voice came out smaller than I intended. “I can’t go back to my dorm right now. Not with them following… I just need a minute to breathe.”
Understanding flickered across his face, followed by something that looked almost like pain. He glanced back down the street, then at me.
“I live just a couple of blocks from here,” he sighed. “Let me get the dogs home, and I can drive you wherever you need to go.”
I should have said no. I should have called Luz or Amy. This was my professor, and going to his apartment was crossing all kinds of lines.
But the alternative was going back out into those rain-slicked streets where something had been watching me.
I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing, and followed him anyway.
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”
He adjusted his grip on the leashes, cleared his throat, and gestured down the street. “This way.”
The dogs moved with quiet discipline around us, three shadows padding along the slick sidewalk. I folded my arms across my chest, clutching the journal beneath my coat. Professor Ward walked beside me, keeping just enough distance to give me space, but close enough that I could feel his warmth.
Neither of us spoke at first. Our boots splashed through puddles, the soft jingle of tags the only sound beyond the rain. It was strangely comfortable, as though we’d walked together a hundred times before.
Finally, he broke the silence. “What have you got there?”
“It’s… a journal. Not mine; at least, I don’t think it is?” I hesitated, tightening my grip on the journal. “It feels familiar, like it was written by someone I used to be.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back.
Gods, I sound insane.
But he didn’t look at me like I was crazy. He frowned. “Another life?”
I glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was humoring me. But his expression was genuinely curious.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess. One where I might have been hanged as a witch.” I winced, brushing dripping hair from my eyes. “Sorry. That sounds completely insane, doesn’t it?”
His gaze softened, and something almost like grief flickered in his eyes. “That must have been a horrible death.”
The acknowledgement and sympathy in his eyes took me aback.
“I imagine so,” I whispered. “But it feels so real, like remembering something that hasn’t happened yet, or something that happened so long ago it’s become part of me.”
He paused. “Memory isn’t always linear, and it isn’t always yours alone.”
A shiver raced down my spine. “So you believe in reincarnation?”
He glanced down at me, rain catching in his dark hair. “I believe the soul remembers, whether we want it to or not.”
The way he said it made me wonder if he was speaking from experience.
“Have you…” I started, then paused. “Do you remember things? From before?”
He hesitated. “Sometimes.”
“What kind of things?”
For a long moment, I didn’t think he would answer. Then: “Faces. Places. The feeling of knowing someone even though you’ve just met them.” His arm brushed mine as we walked. “The sense that you’re repeating something. Following a pattern you can’t quite see but know is there.”
My chest tightened. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”
We walked in silence again after that, but something between us had shifted. The air felt heavy with things unsaid. His shoulder brushed mine again, and neither of us pulled away.
His building rose from the street like something from another century.
Red brick weathered to deep rust, with wrought iron railings flanking worn stone steps.
Ivy crawled up the southern face, throttling the brickwork in a tangle of wet green.
A small courtyard lay beyond the archway, invisible in the rain.
He led me up a narrow stairwell, the dogs bounding ahead, nails clicking on worn wood.
The warmth of his apartment hit me as soon as we stepped inside, a wall of heat that made me realize just how cold I’d been.
The space was exactly what I would have imagined.
Hardwood floors worn smooth with age. Bookshelves consumed nearly every wall.
Chaos and care intertwined: volumes stacked sideways, small collections of stones and cards wedged between books.
Yet everything had a place, a deliberate untidiness.
Soft leather furniture bore the weight of lived-in comfort.
Plants crowded every window. The fireplace glowed with embers.
It felt comfortable and real in a way that my generic dorm room never had. The dogs immediately relaxed.
The lanky brindle mutt, all legs and enthusiasm, bounded onto the couch and flopped over with zero dignity. She shook rainwater everywhere, soaking the cushions.
“Duska, you absolute menace,” The Professor sighed, rolling his eyes.
The smallest dog, sleek and black with amber eyes and a distinctive white stripe down her spine, executed a full-body shake that sent water droplets flying like a tiny explosion. Then she trotted into the kitchen.
“That’s Vex,” He said, hanging up his coat. “She thinks she runs the place.”
“Does she?” I asked, unable to suppress my smile. His eyes sparkled a little.
“Absolutely.”
The largest of the three, a massive black shepherd with intelligent eyes, moved to the fireplace and curled up with a contented sigh. Within seconds, he was snoring softly.
“And that’s Bran,” Professor Ward added. “He’s the sensible one.”
I stood there dripping on his floor, suddenly hyperaware of how I must have looked like a half-drowned rat.
“Can I take your coat?” he asked gently.
I peeled it off, still holding the journal against my chest. My shirt underneath was damp, clinging to my skin.
He disappeared down the hallway and returned with a thick gray hoodie. “Here. It’ll be enormous on you, but at least it’s dry.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, our fingers brushing as I took it. The brief contact sent a spark up my arm.
He gestured toward a door. “Bathroom’s through there. Take your time.”
I locked the bathroom door and leaned against it, just breathing.
What am I doing here?
This was inappropriate. I was in my professor’s apartment, about to change into his clothes, and every rational part of my brain was screaming that I should leave.
But the louder part—the part that had been screaming since I found that journal, and saw that figure watching me—was grateful.
I peeled off my wet shirt, pausing to consider my soaked undergarments. With him right outside, my face burned and I pulled the hoodie over my head instead. He hadn’t been exaggerating about the size. The sleeves dangled well past my hands, and the hem brushed my knees. I looked ridiculous.
But it smelled like him. Cedar, tobacco, rain, and earth. The fabric was blissfully soft and warm. I shoved the sleeves up and studied my reflection. I looked pale with shadows under my eyes and hair a damp mess, but at least I wasn’t shaking anymore.
The birthmark on my wrist caught my attention. In the bathroom’s incandescent light, the seed-shaped ovals looked darker than usual. I brushed my thumb over them and was surprised to find they were warmer than the surrounding skin.
That’s not normal.
I pulled the sleeve down and took a steadying breath before opening the door.
When I stepped back out, Professor Ward was crouched by the fireplace, adding another log.
He looked up as I emerged, and I watched his pupils dilate in the firelight, his breath catching audibly. For a heartbeat, he just stared, his gaze traveling over me in a way that made heat pool low in my stomach.
I knew I had to have looked like a small, damp creature inside a fortress of gray wool. But the way he was looking at me, like I’d knocked the air from his lungs, didn’t feel like he was seeing something ridiculous.
He looked away too quickly, his hand gripping the fireplace poker with white knuckles. When he looked back, his eyes had darkened to something almost hungry before he shuttered the expression. He cleared his throat, standing to put deliberate distance between us.
“It suits you,” he said, his voice strained despite the casual words.
My cheeks burned. “It’s enormous.”
“I noticed.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair.
When he faced me again, his breathing was controlled.
“But it looks…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to where the fabric pooled around me, then snapping back to my face like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Good. It looks good.”
He cleared his throat and stood, gesturing to the couch. “Sit. You should warm up. Can I get you something? Tea? Water?”
“Tea would be amazing,” I admitted, sinking onto the couch. Duska immediately shifted to put her head on my lap.
“She likes you,” Professor Ward observed. “She doesn’t usually warm up to people that fast.”
I stroked her soft ears, and she let out a contented sigh. “I like her too.”
Vex trotted over, sniffing at the journal I’d set on the coffee table. When she seemed satisfied it wasn’t food, she curled up on my feet.
“You’ve been adopted,” The Professor chuckled from the kitchen. “There’s no escape now.”
I smiled at the idea.
He returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs. He settled onto the couch beside me, and I became acutely aware of every inch between us. Not too close, he was careful about that, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His woodsy scent made my head swim.
“Chamomile, lavender, and a touch of valerian root,” he said, handing me a mug. “Good for calming nerves.”
I took it, wrapping both hands around the warmth. “You know herbs?”
“Some.” His voice was low, intimate in the quiet room. “Picked up bits and pieces over the years.”