1
ELOWEN
"Are you ready, Elowen?"My grandmother Mira hesitates in the doorway when she finds me sitting cross-legged on the floor of her potting room, surrounded by pots of herbs as if I’m conducting an orchestra. Her voice softens as she comes in and kneels slowly, bones creaking like an old house. "Did you find the answer you were looking for?"
I drag my braid forward over my shoulder, tickle my nose with the soft black tips of my hair the way I’ve done since I was a little girl, and toss it behind me again.
I smile. “Yes.” Firm. “I’m ready.”
I stand up and hold her hand while she eases herself back onto her feet. If I’d not allowed my thoughts to wander around the brochure images of Elderwood Academy for so long, I could’ve prevented her discomfort.
“Let me get you—” I begin.
She cuts me off by squeezing my hand. “You don’tneed to worry about me, Elowen. This is your journey. It’s your time now.”
I nod. I could’ve left for college a year ago, but I deferred because I never imagined setting off for my first term at the Academy without my parents to wave me off and wish me luck. When they died, nothing made sense anymore. What was the point of attending the omega college they chose for me when they were no longer there to witness it? Who was I doing it for?
Me or them?
Also, I couldn’t bear to leave Mira here all alone when she was still grieving for her only daughter. It didn’t feel right. Any of it. So, instead, I extended my home schooling in grandma’s cottage by twelve months, learning everything there is to know about herbs, the way Mira learned from her own grandmother.
Until I felt healed.
“I’ll call as often as I can.” I smile.
“Ach, you’ll do no such thing. If you call me on a Friday evening when you could be spending time with your new friends, I won’t pick up.”
I chuckle. She’s serious. “Don’t forget the faulty knob on the oven. If you don’t push it in when you turn it?—”
“It won’t switch off. I know.” The gleam in her eyes could easily dissolve into tears and probably will when she has the cottage all to herself again.
“And the stray ginger cat likes tuna, not sardines.”
“He wouldn’t know the difference if you hadn’tspoiled him,” she counters.
I suck my top lip until it disappears. “How do you know it’s a him?” All this time she told me not to encourage the stray’s visits, when I knew she secretly looked forward to them.
“Lucky guess.”
She reaches for the bag resting on the chair.
It's old. Hand-stitched. Thick fabric worn smooth with time, dyed in deep gold and rust tones that catch the morning light. Delicate embroidery runs along the edges, flowers and curling leaves worked in a style that doesn't belong to this place, or even this country. The bag smells faintly of spice and sun-warmed cloth.
My great-great-grandmother carried a bag like this once.
Mira settles the strap over my shoulder, adjusting it so it rests comfortably against my side.
"You don't have to go," she says gently. "If you’re worried about the omega who died before the summer break…"
I swallow. Lydia Jones wasn’t the first omega to die at Elderwood Academy. Iris Stockwell died at the beginning of the same school year, then another omega called Shannon McCartney died in February. But their deaths have nothing to do with my reluctance to leave here, and everything to do with the woman standing in front of me.
"I want to go, grandma." I hold her gaze and watch realization slowly settle on her shoulders.
"Oh, Elowen… "
"It’s fine, grandma. I wasn’t ready a year ago."
"And now you are." She cups my face with her scratchy palm and gives me a small smile.
