Chapter 22
The logistics of packing up her life at the school and moving back to Denver were almost too easy, as if her presence at Grimoire Academy hadn’t even made a ripple.
It had always been temporary, and maybe this was further proof that she was doing the right thing, since it took next to nothing to pack her stuff and make her travel arrangements.
By the time she went to bed on Friday, still feeling weary and tear-stained, she had her flight booked for Monday afternoon.
She even had a car booked to take her to the airport.
Amongst the things she’d intended to do but had failed to complete was the boxing and shipment of Professor Herringbone’s library, so she had texted Piper to ask them if they could help her with at least the stuff she’d already packed up, shipping it once she was back in Denver, so she knew she’d be around to receive the boxes.
She didn’t have anyone she could ask to go to her apartment and get them, or whose address she could use.
She’d known Piper for barely a handful of months and already felt more comfortable with them than she did with anyone in Denver, including the people she’d had sex with, and even the couple of witches she’d networked with in her time there.
It had never felt like home, but maybe that’s because she’d never committed to it—and she would once she was back.
Now that she had some idea what it felt like to be part of a community, maybe it would be easier to do that in Denver? Surely, it couldn’t get any harder.
Piper had, predictably, said yes, of course they’d help, and immediately showed up at her cottage where, despite promising herself she wouldn’t, she wept into their arms.
“Oh honey,” they said. “Why are you leaving at all if it upsets you this much?” And so she explained far more than she was comfortable explaining, about her insecurities, about her dream to be a prolific author, about all the things she’d planned, and about Amelia.
She didn’t go into great detail, but she went into enough detail that Piper held her close and let her cry on their shoulder until she was thoroughly cried out.
“It’s none of my business,” they said at last, “but I think you’re judging her wrong. I don’t think she’s trying to get rid of you.”
But Bryn didn’t want to hear it. “Of course she is. And it makes sense, I don’t hold it against her.
She has a whole school to maintain, and I’m a weak link.
I would get rid of me too.” Piper opened their mouth to speak, but she shook her head.
“No, I know I am. You don’t have to spare my feelings.
I get it. So, ultimately, this is best for both of us, and definitely best for the students, who deserve a teacher who knows what they’re doing. ”
“Bryn—” Piper tried again.
“No, it’s decided. I have non-refundable plane tickets. And once I’m back there, you can send me everything I need, and that’ll be that. I’ll never have to come here again.”
Piper sat back, hesitated, then nodded. “All right, if that’s what you want to do, okay.
For the record, I think you’re wrong on a lot of levels, but you are an adult, and you’re allowed to be wrong.
” They hugged her tightly, undermining what might have been a contentious statement. “So, what do we do now?”
They spent much of the day together. Bryn had the impression that Piper didn’t think she should be alone. With a pang of guilt, she wondered who Amelia was with right now. Who comforted the headmistress when she needed comfort? Did anyone? Did she even need to ask?
She got Piper up to speed on where her classes were, how her group projects were going, who to look out for, and who needed extra help with the MSEs.
And then, feeling her heart break again, she realized she was abandoning the after-school club.
That was almost as painful as leaving Amelia.
She’d worked so hard to gain their trust, and they’d taken a chance on her.
She knew they had stood up for her when other students tried to get around her rules or acted like she didn’t know what she was doing.
Hell, Violet had stood up for her to the governors.
The after-school club had been there for her, and now she was not going to be there for them.
As much as she told herself that this was just life—sometimes people changed plans, and disappointment was something everyone had to live with—she still felt sick about leaving them.
It wasn’t like she was their parent. She had no more obligation to them than any regular teacher.
So why did it feel like she was committing a crime?
She sent a message to Amelia, asking if she could have leave to meet with the after-school club during their first period, before the car arrived to take Bryn away.
Amelia said, Of course, and that she would gladly arrange it, since she was the one who would be teaching Bryn’s classes that day anyway.
Bryn wondered if Amelia had spent the whole weekend making a schedule, reviewing the curriculum for the various year levels, drafting a job listing for Professor Herringbone’s position.
The professor had been at Grimoire Academy for thirty-seven years.
What would that feel like? Looking back on your life’s work and seeing not just a single year of students, but generations of students?
Interacting with so many families, so many other professors—and then there was the part of her work that Bryn hadn’t truly appreciated until recently; the professor had been internationally known for her expertise in spell craft and analysis.
What a body of work she’d left. Bryn could only aspire to a fraction of that impact, even if she wrote ten books, or twenty.
She got her emotions under control and sent Amelia a thank-you message that went through many drafts of varying lengths before she settled, simply, on: Thank you. Full stop, end of story, sent.
On Monday morning, the kids were excited to be pulled out of their class, though mystified by Bryn’s appearance in the library, which had been the first place they’d ever met with her.
They thought it might be another field trip, with Luke saying, “Are we going back to the spell shop?” and Violet elbowing him and saying, “I told you, that would be wasteful. We must be going somewhere new.” Circe, though, only gazed at Bryn with dark, perplexed eyes, already seeing that this was not another field trip.
She immediately let her hair fall into her face, obscuring the rest of her emotions.
And then Bryn explained why they’d been pulled out of class. The jocularity and silliness died utterly. When she told them she was leaving, they responded in specific, individual ways.
Violet was so mad that they couldn’t even get a sentence out. They stumbled over their words, finally settling on, “I hate you, you know. I really do. I can’t believe you’re abandoning us like this.” Then they stormed out.
Luke only shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why is this other job more important than we are? You can’t just wait a couple of weeks? I don’t get it.”
Bryn struggled not to cry. The kids did not need to see her cry. She couldn’t lay that on them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s just how it worked out. I couldn’t predict the timing, and I didn’t think it would be this fast.”
His frown only deepened. “Okay. Well, um …” He scratched the back of his head.
She didn’t know if it was her mind playing tricks on her, but she swore he looked older than he had in February, when they’d first met—more like the man he would eventually become, than the boy he had been.
“All right, well, um, it was really nice having you as our teacher.” He glanced at Circe, who did not nod or shake her head.
“Right. Okay. I better get to class. Um, bye, Professor Delmar.”
“Bye, Luke,” she said. “Bye, Circe.” The words were physically painful, knifing into her stomach and twisting there.
Circe got up too, her eyes dry, her brow furrowed. She, of course, said nothing, but she looked back at Bryn once as they left the library together, and in that look, Bryn thought she saw all of the disappointment that could exist in one fifteen-year-old.
She had fantasized that stepping into her apartment after three months away would actually feel like coming home.
That she would set down her bags and feel a sense of relief.
No more teaching, no more being profoundly bad at the things she was trying to do every day.
Now she could get back to her real work, the work she was meant for.
Once again, most of her interactions would revolve around ordering coffee or thanking people for delivering it.
No more communal meals. No more stressful interactions with the governors.
No more sensing that Mr Wicks was judging her, even when he was trying to help. Or maybe that
was especially when he was trying to help.
No more heated looks from Amelia. No more anticipatory messages or hands brushing as they ate dinner, knowing that later they would be able to do so much more. No more low-voiced teasing. No more mingling their magic until the heightened sense of power seemed to permeate her every cell …
She shut all of those thoughts down. Denver.
This was her apartment, her home. She could use her favorite mug again, which she’d missed.
Her food had been left to go bad because, again, she didn’t even know a neighbor well enough to leave a key with, let alone to ask for the favor of throwing away the milk in her fridge.
But that only took half an hour to take care of, if a little longer than that for the smell to dissipate.
She opened all the windows and turned on the fans, let the musty air out.
She looked out at the view and enjoyed the city.
She liked Denver, she reminded herself. It wasn’t a lie.
Denver had felt like a safe haven away from the sea, away from her family and everything she’d known. A place to start fresh.
It was why she had come to Denver. She didn’t want to be in some urban area that smelled only of diesel and smog, but she hadn’t wanted to be on the coast either, and Denver had been the perfect place.
So why did it now feel like it was a million light years away from where she wanted to be?
She couldn’t help missing rolling green fields and the scent of the sea in the air.
That first night, back in her bed, fresh sheets pulled on, pillows newly fluffed, she couldn’t help crying a little, because she missed her tiny cottage, and the arms that she wanted around her.