The reminder makes my heart squeeze.
Soon, I’ll leave these hallways behind. I’ll don my Coven Crest robe for the last time.
Now, something about that feels different.Like the future stretching out ahead of me isn’t quite as fixed as it once was. Like there’s so much more for me to discover.
The thought—and warm tug of connection inside my chest—makes me smile even as moisture mists across my eyes.
I push through an exterior door into the Coven Crest gardens, and the air that swirls around me is tinged with warmth and smells of spring rain and the first flower blossoms of the year. My elective for this semester is Floriculture—a flower class. Alina convinced me to take it—along with Poppy and Lyra. It’s the only class all four of us have been in together, and I’m so grateful Alina thought of this. I want to soak up as much time with these girls as possible before we graduate.
With the springtime sun shining down on me, I follow the winding paths through the gardens toward the big greenhouse where we have our flower class. In the raised beds along the paths are early blooms: pale white snowdrops, vibrant yellow crocuses, and tall-stemmed daffodils. And beyond them, waiting for me, are three witches I’ve come to absolutely adore.
Alina, Lyra, and Poppy.
They’re lost in conversation, and it looks like Alina and Lyra are arguing about something, but it must not be anything serious, because it makes Poppy laugh.
“I’m just saying, I would be anexcellentmaid of honor,” Lyra is saying to Alina as I approach.
“Maybe if she wants pyrotechnics as she walks down the aisle,” I say, planting my hands on my hips and arching a brow at my favorite fire witch. “I think I’d make amuchbetter maid of honor.”
“I agree,” Poppy pipes up, her glasses winking in the sunlight.
Lyra presses a hand to her chest, freckled forehead furrowing. “I feel betrayed. I thought we were friends.”
“Remember that time you almost set our dorm room on fire?” Alina asks, one blue brow arching pointedly.
Before Lyra can respond, I say, “Which time? I’ve lost count.”
Lyra gasps. “You’re all terrible, you know that? Worst best friendsever.”
We laugh, and I feel it again—that sensation of tightness in my chest, a feeling of something fleeting, something very near to its end.
I think they all feel it too, even if we don’t say it. We’ve made a pact to not talk about it until graduation. It makes us all too sad to think about not being together anymore.
“Um, Maeve,” Poppy says, leaning slightly to one side to glance around me. “I think that’s for you.” She points.
I turn. Students are moving out of the way, creating a path for Professor Azula’s iguana, who’s currently scurrying through the garden, a letter clutched in its mouth. And it’s headed straight for me.
When it reaches me, it stops, tipping its head up to meet my eyes. I kneel and take the letter it offers. It’s sealed with red wax, Professor Azula’s insignia pressed into it. My gaze lifts to the iguana’s again. “Thank you,” I say.
It flicks its tongue and long tail, then turns and scuffles away.
I rise to my feet and stare down at the letter. I’m still staring at it as the girls crowd around me.
“Well?” Lyra says. “Open it!”
I’ve not yet heard back from the Arcanum Collective, and now I’m suddenly afraid of what this letter might hold.
But my friends are clustered around me, Lyra bouncing on her toes, Alina’s steady presence at my back, Poppy’s smile coaxing me to be brave.
I bite my bottom lip. Then I tear through the wax and pull the letter free.
FINALLY, IT’S THE END OF the day, and I’m on my way to Professor Azula’s office. Her letter was brief and told me that she needed to speak with me, and I’ve been on edge all day, wondering what news she has.
The corridors are quieter now, with most students returning to the dormitory towers or heading to dinner in the dining hall. My boots thump softly against the stone as I make my way toward the faculty offices. Late-afternoon sunlight cuts through the stained glass windows, painting colorful murals across the walls and floor and illuminating dust motes drifting lazily through the air.
When I arrive at Professor Azula’s office, I find the door standing open, and the scent of sage incense drifts out. I pause and rap my knuckles against the doorframe.
“Professor?”
