Oh joy. She’s an inept with no experience of the supernatural.
“I prefer ‘Librarian.’ Now please calm down. I’m not here to harm you.” I pause while she stares, her oval eyes narrow and disbelieving. “In fact, if you’ll come a little closer, I’ll patch you up and send you back to wherever you came from.”
I intended the words to be reassuring, but she flinches. “I’m not going back there! They shot me!”
“Somewhere else then,” I agree. “But you can’t stay here.”
The awkward standoff continues, and I sigh. “My name is Kyrith. What’s yours?”
Lambert would be so proud of me for staying calm instead of just forcefully evicting her. Tempting though the idea might be, sheisinjured.
“Marianne,” she drags the name out, like she’s unsure whether she should give it to me. Her stiff accent and rigid posture don’t scream friendliness, but she’s not openly hostile either.
At least she’s not drunk like that last group of demons.
I offer her a cordial smile, though it may be a little tight. “Well, Marianne. If you’ll let me heal you, we can have you on your way quickly enough, yes?”
It takes almost fifteen minutes to fix the damage to her arm, and she doesn’t trust me enough to let me take care of the scarring. Still, her colour has returned, along with her curiosity as she examines the door I’ve selected for her.
“So, I just knock…and I can go anywhere?”
I nod, tempering my impatience. “Be as specific as you like. I’d recommend adding something about your home realm. No one wants to end up in the wrong one by mistake.”
Her throat bobs. “And other realms are real. Of course.”
“That doesn’t have to be any of your concern. You can go back to whichever one you came from and forget all about this place. Your likelihood of encountering another portal, even accidentally, is almost nil.”
Though I suppose her odds of running from a cartel, getting shot, and happening upon a portal in Austin, Texas were low, too. Yet, that’s the tale she spun while I was treating her.
Taking another gulp, she nods, shifting her weight a little as she rests her knuckles against the door.
“I don’t care what realm,” she mutters. “Because the one I came from was pretty shit. But maybe somewhere tropical would be nice, for a fresh start?”
Her knock is timid, but the door swings open anyway, admitting her onto a bustling, sun-drenched street lined with faded yellow taxis. She takes a deep breath, nods at me, and then steps through.
I turn physical, then frown as I rub a twang from my chest as the scent of the sea and a rush of warmth hit me. I don’t want to go with her. I’ve got North to deal with and problems of my own that need solving. Gallivanting off on adventures now would be stupid, even if I were capable of setting foot outside of the Arcanaeum.
With that thought firmly in mind, I pop down to the Solarium, shoulders drooping as the stained-glass glows from within with bright flashes of magic.
Maybe this time we won’t argue. I’m only here to offer reassurance, after all. As long as I remain calm, this should go well.
Deep breaths. Calm. Composed. Comforting.
I grip those three words close as I turn the handle and almost have my eyebrows singed for my troubles.
“Northcliff Ackland!” I snap, ghosting until the flames subside. “Watch where you’recasting.”
His face goes slack, then hardens again as I shut the door behind me to protect my plants from any further outbursts.
Shit. In my defence, I was almost barbecued, but still, that wasn’t the tone I was going for. Letting out a long breath, I drop my shoulders and come back to my physical body.
He cuts me off before I can apologise for my outburst. “What are you doing here?”
The abrasive demand puts my hackles up, and I raise one brow. “This is my Arcanaeum. The better question would be, why are you up at this ghastly hour and doing your best to wear out the enchantments on the Solarium?”
His grimoire falls to the floor as he loses his hold on the levitation spell, and he curses as he stoops to pick it up again. “I’m trying to figure out the spellyouset for homework. Besides, we’re stuck living here now. What does it matter what time it is?”
How am I supposed to be supportive when he’s the same angry, defensive typical North? I can’t. I could lead this horse to water, but North would rather drown than drink, especially if I am the one suggesting it.
