Professor Sage lets us go, but she’s insistent that we hurry back so we can finish the pumpkin soup we were working on. I’m grateful to escape the room and breathe air thatdoesn’tsmell like squash.
The walk back to the north tower is slow, with me warning Poppy about steps and doorways while she clings to my arm and tries not to trip. By the time we reach NT33, she’s laughing at herself.
“This is ridiculous,” she says, fumbling for her key to unlock the door. “I’m completely helpless.”
“Not helpless,” I say, easing the key from her hand and slipping it into the lock. “Just temporarily vision impaired.” I turn the knob and push the door open, and the familiar scent of sage drifts out.
Probably from Maeve’s morning meditation ritual. She’s been doing that foryears, almost for as long as I’ve known her.
Poppy slips past me and into the room, then pauses, turning back to me where I’m still standing in the hallway. “Do you think you could help me find them?”
Of course. I’m such an idiot. How’s she supposed to find them when she can barely see?
“Yeah, sure.” I glance back down the spiral staircase, suddenly nervous that Raelan is going to show up and demand to know what the hell I’m doing in the girls’ dorm room. And once I’m inside, with the door closed behind me, the feeling intensifies. I’ve been in here before, but never like this. And never with Poppy. Alone.
“They should be in my nightstand,” Poppy says, already making her way toward the staircase. But as soon as she lifts a foot, she trips on the bottom step, and I lunge for her, barely catching her around the waist before she can fall. I tug her against my chest, holding her close.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, a sudden burst of protectiveness flaring up inside me. With my arm still around her waist, I guide her into the sitting room, where I deposit her onto one of the couches. “I’ll get them for you. Which bed is yours?”
Maybe Poppy just realized that we’re alone in here, because her cheeks start to take on that pink color I love so much. “Um, the one with the purple bedspread.”
Purple. Like her hair and her eyes. It might be my new favorite color.
“Stay put,” I say.
She smiles, and then I turn and climb the stairs.
It feels weird being up here in the loft, and I hurriedly locate Poppy’s bed, trying not to imagine us in it together right now. The last thing I need is Maeve walking in on us. Inside Poppy’s nightstand, I find her backup pair of glasses, along with a collection of books and—
The crystal I bought her. The amethyst we picked up at the apothecary shop together.
It’s nestled up on a little square of fabric, as if it’s a precious gemstone and not the simple stone I plucked off the high shelf. She sleeps with it right beside her, within reach if she just pulls open her drawer.
I’m still staring at it when the door downstairs opens and someone says, “Pops, what are you doing here?”
As Poppy starts to explain, I grab her glasses, slide the drawer closed, and start back toward the stairs.
Down in the sitting room, I find Lyra starting a fire in the hearth, and Poppy is still seated on the couch, exactly where I left her.
“Found ’em,” I say, handing them to Poppy so she can put them on.
Lyra stands from beside the hearth, where flames are now happily crackling, and she gives me a sideways smile that reminds me way too much of the way Maeve smiles when she’s up to no good. Those two are probably capable of pulling off crimes together.
“Well, hello, Aric.” She tips her head, sending a cascade of red curls tumbling over her shoulder. “You weren’t thinking about doing anythinguntowardwith our little Poppy here, were you?”
I’m not usually one to be at a loss for words, but I wasliterallythinking that just a minute ago, and for some reason, no clever comebacks spring into my brain. Lyra caught me, and I think she knows it.
Thankfully, Poppy says, “Ly, stop teasing him. He’s just helping with my glasses.”
Lyra and I both turn to look at her, and as she blinks up at me from behind her too-small glasses, I get the sudden urge to wrap my arms around her and never let go, like she’s a baby bird that needs protecting.
The fire witch, on the other hand, slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
Poppy stands from the couch. “I know. It’s my old pair. They don’t fit me right. But they’ll do until...” She glances at me.
Until I fix her regular pair.
I reach up to double-check that Poppy’s broken glasses are tucked safely into my pocket. They are, right next to my heart. Which is beating way too fast right now, seeing how vulnerable Poppy looks.
