Chapter Twenty-Two
The bell rang again, deeper this time, its tone resonating through the Academy in a way that felt deliberate. The warmth at my hip flared in response, a steady pulse that made me instinctively press my hand there, grounding myself as the buzz in the walls shifted to something alert but not alarmed.
“Okay,” I murmured. “Something’s definitely arrived.”
Keegan was already beside me, close enough that I could feel the solid reassurance of him without needing to look.
“Gideon?” Ardetia mused.
“I don’t think so, but nothing would truly surprise me at this point.”
“You felt it first,” Keegan said quietly.
“Yes,” I replied. “And whatever it is, it’s complicated.”
Twobble popped up on my other side, craning his neck toward the entrance. “If this is another surprise guest situation, I’d like to formally request a better warning system. Birthmarks and bells are clearly not enough.”
Nova appeared just behind us, her expression calm, eyes focused beyond the doors as if she could already see what waited on the other side.
“The Academy isn’t tense,” she said. “It’s receptive.”
“That’s not ominous at all,” Skonk muttered, falling into step as we moved forward. “It’s not like it hasn’t already invited the man who cursed the entire village to stay the night recently or anything.”
Twobble nodded in agreement as we walked together down the main corridor, the goblins shuffling behind us, the toad hopping along with irritating confidence in the center of the floor. I shot my ex a look.
“Don’t,” I warned.
He ribbited, entirely unrepentant.
The doors loomed ahead, tall and carved with sigils that glowed faintly as my hand brushed against the stone, leading to them. The warmth at my birthmark surged once more, then steadied, like something inside me acknowledging what stood on the other side.
I opened the doors, and a cluster of elderly women stood on the steps.
They weren’t dressed alike, but there was an unmistakable cohesion to them, as if they’d arrived from different places but for the same reason. Shawls layered over coats, sensible shoes, a few flashes of bold jewelry that hummed faintly with magic. Their hair ranged from neatly pinned silver to wild white curls, and every single one of them was looking at the Academy with open, unapologetic interest.
I blinked, momentarily wrong-footed.
“Oh,” I said. “Hello.”
For half a second, my brain scrambled to make sense of it, and the most ridiculous thought surfaced first. Early students. Stonewick had taught me that magic didn’t always align with appearances, and the Academy had never been shy about bending expectations.
“I’m sorry,” I added quickly. “Classes don’t start for another week and a half, but if you’re here early—”
One of the women stepped forward, gently interrupting me. She was tall, her posture straight despite her age, eyes sharp and kind all at once.
“Oh no, dear,” she said. “We’re not students.”
I let out a breath. “All right. Then may I ask—”
“Lady Limora sent for us,” she continued.
“Lady Limora,” I repeated, glancing briefly at Nova, who gave a slight, confirming nod. “She… brought you here.”
“Yes,” another woman chimed in from behind her, adjusting the strap of a well-worn bag. “Said the Academy would know what to do with us.”
“That’s… vague,” Twobble muttered.
The woman with sharp eyes smiled faintly.
