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“This is an American passport.” He pushed it back to her through the slot. “You’ll need to get in the other line for non-citizens.”
“Shit, hold on.” Fern started rummaging around in her bag before procuring a nearly identical blue document. “Here you go. Sorry, I never use that one.”
The gate agent said nothing and looked at her skeptically before flipping meticulously through the British passport. Fern chewed her lip, praying that she wasn’t about to add ‘searched by immigration’ to the list of everything going wrong. It was hardly an auspicious start to her trip.
It’s not a trip. She corrected herself. You live here now.
Fern had counted on abysmal weather. It was the only thing predictable about today. She held onto the cloudy sky like a misplaced, bizarre beacon of hope. If she could count on anything, she could depend on it to be raining in Scotland.
The gate agent finally stamped her passport and handed it back to her. “Welcome to Edinburgh, Ms. McEwan.”
It was official.
Fern nodded a polite ‘thanks’ and scurried off, tugging her carry-on bag behind her. She had two full-sized suitcases she needed to collect, but Fern McEwan was nothing if not a bit of a control freak.
She lived in constant fear of letting anything out of sight—from her cellphone to her siblings—and always brought a carry-on bag in case her checked luggage got lost.
Fern jogged the rest of the way to baggage claim, hoping her bags would be off first. She hadn’t always been this neurotic, but becoming the sole guardian of her younger brother and sister had drastically shifted her priorities. Their parents had died in a car crash while visiting her mother’s native Edinburgh, of all places. Fern had just turned eighteen and didn’t hesitate to take responsibility for Finley, her brother, and Saoirse, her sister.
It had changed their lives.
Fern let go of her full-ride scholarship to the University of Chicago’s anthropology department. She took classes closer to their family home, at the University of Massachusetts, while working full time. When Finley and Saoirse left for school, Fern could finally leave Boston and attend NYU for her graduate degree.
She was well on her way to her doctorate, even if it looked a lot different from her original plan. At least, she hoped so. That was the only reason she would come back to Edinburgh. Fern had been studying the use of magic throughout modern and ancient societies, including the few magical cities that still existed.
Most of the world’s magical communities had abandoned their places on earth hundreds of years ago, but some still existed. There was a vampire settlement outside of New Orleans, a djinn community in Damascus, and an elven outpost at Skarsvag, to name a few.
Fern focused her work on what modern legends were based in fact and which ones were purely a product of man’s imagination.
She had hoped to pursue her doctoral research at the University of Chicago, at long last, but had missed the deadline for applications.
Actually, she had missed a lot of deadline applications.
Saoirse needed help to move in for her undergraduate term, which took precedence. Finley had moved to Edinburgh a few years ago, taking a position with the Heart of Midlothian F.C.
That left Fern to tend to their youngest sibling, and as always, her dreams fell by the wayside. When it was time for her to apply for doctoral candidate positions, there weren’t many applications still open.
Fern had gotten only one acceptance—the University of Edinburgh. She’d never forget the sick feeling she got upon opening that letter.
Dear Ms. McEwan, the Anthropological Department at the University of Edinburgh and its Office of Highland Magic are pleased to accept…
It wasn’t as though she blamed Scotland for her parents’ death. It was just a place that she didn’t want to return to. They spent every summer holiday and Christmas visiting as children, and it was full of too many happy family memories that Fern could never relive.
All of Fern’s dreams had been in the backseat of that car too.
But an offer was an offer. Beggars can’t be choosers, she had thought glumly as she took the position with little consideration. She didn’t even know that the University of Edinburgh had an anthropology department—or a ‘Department of Highland Magic’, whatever that was. Apparently, they did, and they accepted her proposal. Good enough.
Now she was here, in the city, pulling her bags off the rotating belt and making a mad dash for the cab line. As soon as the airport doors opened and cool, damp air rushed over her skin, Fern took a deep breath.
This will be fine. It’ll be fun, even. Her attempts at motivation were abysmal. Fern shuffled awkwardly through the bending line for a black cab, pulling two suitcases and a carry-on behind her. When she reached the front of the line, the driver luckily took pity on her and put her luggage in the trunk.
Fern nearly toppled into the backseat.
“Where to then, miss?” The cabbie smiled at her politely in the rear-view mirror.
“Um, one second.” Fern picked through her purse, pushing aside both passports, until she had the printed email from the registrar’s office. She rattled off the address for Gilmore Place, where they gave her postgraduate housing. The driver nodded in response and pulled off into traffic.
Fern leaned her head against the window, letting the cool glass soothe her growing migraine. She allowed herself a few seconds of reprieve before pulling her iPhone out and switching it on.
