I look at her skeptically. “Isn’t it like, your job to convert me or something?”
She scoffs and shakes her head. “Hardly. What a waste of a life, worrying about how others live theirs.”
“Then what’s the point of all this?” I gesture back out to the main chamber.
“That question depends on the answer you’re looking for, I suppose.” She smiles softly at me, taking the wax ball and putting it into a pot on a large hotplate. “Our magic connects us to the earth from which we’re born and buried, just as the air and water sustain our bodies while we’re here. Sacred places like this, the rituals and traditions we practice, connect our souls to the divine, illuminating the path towards the purpose Fate has woven for us.”
"’A lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark.’" I murmur, remembering something I read long ago.
“‘A mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.’ Indeed, Carl Sagan was closer to the truth than he likely ever realized. Or maybe he did and was trying to tell us in his own way.” She stirs the pot, and I find myself mesmerized by the swirling wax when she continues. “Every life, every death, every measure of joy, pain, love, and hatred felt throughout the history of humankind is merely a heartbeat in the void of an infinite universe, blinking from existence in a single breath, as memory surrenders to the relentless passage of time.”
“That’s depressing,” I say quietly after a moment.
“Is it? I think it’s rather beautiful, to burn so bright, if only for a moment.” She turns and looks at me, but fuck if I can tell what she’s thinking.
“I look forward to our next visit, Nyx.” Her voice lowers, and her eyes fill with something I can't name. “Enjoy your time in the sun, Daughter of Night. The darkness will come soon enough.”She turns back to the hot plate, humming a vague melody. I recognize the dismissal for what it is, but manage to catch her parting words.
“If you listen closely enough, you can hear the magic calling.” Her back is turned when I look over my shoulder to ask her what the hell that means, but it’s clear her attention is elsewhere.
Her words hound my steps as I make my way back to the main campus just in time to beat the morning breakfast rush. They echo in my mind, bouncing around half-formed thoughts as if to taunt me with the promise of answers locked behind a door I can’t yet open.
I barely pay attention to what I grab, only that it’s hot and it smells good, before slinking back to my dorm room, the urge to pore over my Divinity Studies textbook all I can think about.
All I wanted was some fresh air this morning.
Now I’m having an existential crisis, and I haven’t even had coffee.
For fuck’s sake.
13
NYX
Come Monday, my Divination professor does exactly what she threatened to do last week and asks me to stay behind following a lecture on the “divine-sensitive”: seers, projectors, diviners, and empaths. All of which seem to come with more cons than pros, so I send a quick mental request to the universe to please not make my life more fucked up than it already is when my magic gets turned on or whatever, by letting me see the future, or God forbid feel other people’s emotions. My own are punishment enough, thanks so much.
I’ve spent most of the day testing back passageways, nearly-forgotten staircases, and overgrown paths around campus to avoid the pointed stares and whispers that still follow me from class to class. Even then, other students continue to give me a wide berth while simultaneously watching my every step. No one’s actually come up to me though, and I don’t know if that’s worse: on one hand, no one’s talking to me. On the other hand, I have no reason to actually tell someone to fuck off. Because I’m still trying to keep my head down, futile as that seems to be, and cussing out some rich kid who could probably light my clothes on fire is the exact opposite of “laying low”.
Needless to say, I’m so ready to be done and hole up in my dorm with some dinner with some shitty reality TV playing in the background as I read ahead for my classes this week.
Which is why I tilt my head back and sigh when I hear Professor Chamberlain’s voice cut through the chaos of students packing their bags and leaving the classroom. Maybe I can pretend I don’t hear her.
“Ms. Byrke?”
Damn it. “Be right there," I say over my shoulder as I stuff my computer and books in my bag, taking as much time as is still socially acceptable to prepare myself for her unnerving positivity.
“How was your weekend, Nyx?” she asks eagerly as I approach.
It’s weird that she’s being so nice to me, right?
“Uh, it was fine. Walked around campus a bit. Saw the Temple,” I add after an awkward pause. I don’t bother to say I spent the rest of the weekend cocooned in my room, avoiding human contact in favor of trashy television and research, just like any other emotionally mature and mentally stable twenty-something.
“Isn’t it just magical?” she sighs, and I can’t tell if she’s being serious, or if I’m just too tired to get the punchline.
“Yeah. Real neat stuff.” Her eyes twinkle as she maintains eye contact for a beat longer than necessary before gathering her things from the lectern and motioning for me to follow, leading me into a small but organized office off to the side of the classroom. I look around the room as she shuffles a stack of books and papers onto her desk, but my perusal stops on a glass curio cabinet that has runes etched into the metal frame, reminding me of when Augustine wrote some on my apartment window and turned it into a portal to Dreadhurst.
Which is still trippy as fuck to think actually happened.
“Let’s see now,” Chamberlain says, crossing her arms as she looks at me intensely, pursing her lips as if deep in thought before humming and pulling out her desk drawer to grab a key.
