Priya rushed forward, grabbing my arm. “We don’t talk about room 303.” Her grip tightened, and she practically dragged me towards the stairwell, her braid swinging with each hurried step.
I rolled my eyes at her. “Got it. Also, this weird… creature thing just stole my cracker. Greyish green, glowing eyes, bits ofboneshowing—”
“Oh.” Priya gave me an odd smile. “That’s just Freddy.”
“Freddy?”
“Rory’s zombie ferret. He died—years ago now—and Rory was so sad, Issac brought him back to life for him, as a bit of a joke.” She glanced at me. “You know, Issac, the one we lost? You probably noticed the shrine in the kitchen.”
I nodded. “Brought him… back tolife?”
“Yep,” Priya said cheerily, as if this was an everyday occurrence. “Issac was a necromancer. Anyway, as you can imagine, Seb wasfumingabout Freddy. I’m surprised Freddy didn’t find his way into a second early grave. I told Issac it was a terrible idea, but does anyone listen to me? No.” She shook her head. “Now Freddy roams the halls, stealing snacks and leaving half-eaten mice in our shoes.”
“A zombie… ferret.” A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. A week ago, the strangest thing in my life had been my creepy new roommates leaving me cryptic notes about bin rotas. Now I was being robbed by undead pets in a supernatural hotel. This new reality stretched and warped around me like a funhouse mirror, and I wasn’t sure if I was meant to scream or laugh.
“You get used to him. Though I’d recommend not feeding him after midnight. Makes him extra bitey.”
Priya guided me into the kitchen and set about making tea.
“So, what’s really in room 303?” I asked teasingly.
Slowly, she turned and pierced me with her gaze. “First rule of Killigrew Street, Flynn: we don’t talk about room 303.”
I arched one skeptical eyebrow. “Yesterday you told me the first rule of Killigrew Street was we never use the haunted elevator. And the day before that, you said we weren’t supposed to answer the old telephone in the lobby unless it rings exactly three times.”
“All rules are first rules when they keep you alive,” Priya replied, refocusing on the kettle. “Now, would you like some chai? I promise it’s only slightly medicinal today.”
While Priya busied herself with the kettle, my gaze drifted to Issac’s small shrine. A necromancer who could bring ferrets back from the dead.
“Am I the only human here?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Priya’s laugh echoed through the kitchen as she poured steaming water. “Felix is. One hundred percent. Poor guy gets bullied for it. And I’m…” She paused, stirring the chai. “Gifted. That’s the known term for it. It’s a genetic quirk, we think. But sometimes abilities only reveal themselves when triggered by something. Emotional trauma, supernatural exposure, that sort of thing. But my powers are nothing, really. Sensing supernatural energies, a bit of healing.”
She brightened suddenly. “Oh, and there’s this. My party trick.” She pointed at a teaspoon resting on the counter, her face scrunching in concentration. For an awkwardly long moment, I held in a nervous laugh. Then the spoon gave a pathetic little jump before clattering back down. “Ta-da!” She spread her hands with a theatrical flourish. “My grandmother could lift entire tea sets. I got the bargain version of telekinesis, I’m afraid.”
She handed me a mug, the spicy scent of cardamom and cinnamon wafting up. “Gran was Gifted also, but she taught me old magic—healing spells, reading cards, protective wards, that sort of thing. Nothing fancy like Seb’s eternal life, or raising the dead.”
“So you’re like… a witch?”
“I prefer ‘practitioner.’ Less stereotypical, you know?” She perched on the counter, legs swinging. “Though Rory insists on calling me his ‘witch doctor’ whenever I patch him up.”
“I bet he loves that. He’s an absolute windup merchant. I don’t know how you spend so much time with him. I think I’d punch him.”
“He’s lucky I love him.”
I sipped the chai, letting its warmth spread through me. “So your grandmother taught you everything?”
“Mm.” Priya’s fingers traced the gold pendant at her neck. “She was quite well known in Manchester’s community. People would come from all over for her healing remedies.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “The shop’s still there—my parents run it now. To most customers, it’s just an alternative medicine place, but…” She smiled. “Let’s just say, some of our regulars aren’t exactly human. My family wanted me to stay, take over the shop. Escaping to London wasn’t what they had in mind for their eldest. But I needed my own path.”
“They aren’t happy?”
“My phone’s full of messages asking when I’m coming home.” She took a long sip. “Mum still sends photos of eligible Indian doctors she thinks I should meet. As if I have time for dating with this lot keeping me busy.” She gestured downwards, at the basement.
“I understand that—family expectations softly killing you—though in my case…” I traced a pattern in my cooling tea. “I loved the sea, loved the family business. But taking over Seabreeze after Grandad died… the responsibility of it all… knowing I’d never leave Braymore, watching my future shrink down to one single path…” I met Priya’s understanding gaze. “Sometimes running away feels easier than disappointing them, doesn’t it?”
The bittersweet smile on Priya’s face told me she understood me completely, and for the first time since leaving home, the weight of guilt felt just a little lighter to carry.
“It’s funny,” I said, warming my hands with the last of the mug’s heat. “Even though Braymore became home, I always felt like I was playing catch-up with my identity. Spent my childhood in England, and then, even after a decade in Ireland, the locals still called me ‘the English lad.’ Always with a smile, mind, but…”
