Does she know?
“Would you like to come in?” I offer, gesturing toward the hut like I have nothing to hide. “I’ll make some tea.”
She nods once. “That would be lovely.”
We head inside, and immediately, I start scanning the space, looking for any hint of Lyra. The air still smells of her, just slightly, but Lysandra is a witch, not a minotaur, so I hope she can’t smell it.
I clop into the kitchen and set the basket full of fresh produce on the table, double-checking that I didn’t miss any stains when wiping the table down this morning. Thankfully, I don’t find any damning evidence.
“Lavender?” I call out to Lysandra, who’s already making herself comfortable in the sitting room. Every time she visits, that’s her tea of choice.
“Please. Thank you, Cairn.”
Why is she here?I wonder as I pull the jar of lavender tea off the high shelf.Is this about Lyra?I reach for my teacup, the one I used this morning to drink dandelion lattes with Lyra, and realize with a bolt of fear that Lyra’s clean cup is sitting there right beside mine. If Lysandraislooking for some sort of evidence that the fire witch has been here, that little detail may have intensified her suspicions.
Covertly, I put the cup Lyra used back on the shelf—for some reason, I feel like it’s hers now, like no one else should be given the permission to use it—and grab another one for the headmistress to use.
When I finally make it into the sitting room, teacups in hand, I’m wound tight with anticipation. Lyra was sitting on the couch just an hour or two ago, sipping a latte and looking sleepy and beautiful in my oversize sweater. Now Lysandra is in that exact spot. What if she looks down andspots a curly strand of red hair? What would I say? I could tell her Lyra just came in for a cup of tea, or that she hurt herself and needed a bandage. That one’s true—she did sit right there on the couch while I bandaged her wrist after she slipped and fell.
I sink into the armchair across from the couch and level Lysandra with what I hope is a calm, curious look. Obviously, she’s here for a reason. We’ve always been friendly, and she’s one of the only faculty members I regularly interact with, but it’s in no way normal for her to come out to my hut so early in the morning like this. There’s something on her mind.
“I heard whispers through the pumpkin vines,” she says at last.
Whispers? Something about Lyra? About Samhain last night?My stomach turns. I knew it was foolish to allow her to help me with the booth, in clear sight of everyone still milling around the bonfire. And to allow her to come back to my hut was beyond foolish.
It was that dress. It bewitched me.
I need to stay focused. I can’t let myself accidentally reveal anything to the headmistress.
“Pumpkins tell lies,” I finally say, and this gets Lysandra to crack a smile.
“Sometimes they do. But I think these ones were telling the truth.” She takes a sip of her tea and hums in approval.
“The truth about what?” I flex my fingers around my cup of tea and try to take easy, even breaths. No need to get worked up. I still don’t know if she has any idea about Lyra.
Lysandra looks up at me. Her frosty eyes are cold and clear. “They said you’re considering a... change in career paths.”
The rapid pounding of my heart skips a few paces.
Career paths?
Oh.Oh.
This isn’t about Lyra at all. It’s about the Columbine Conservatory.
The sigh I let out is long and deep. “I apologize for not telling you about the position. I was convinced to put in an application”—Milo’s smiling face pops into my mind—“but I don’t have high hopes they’ll take any sort of interest in me.”
“Well, I think you’re quite wrong.” Lysandra tips her head. “Because the conservatory has already reached out to me. You put me down as a reference?”
I almost cringe. I’d forgotten about that. “I should have asked first. I—”
Wait. Did she say . . . ?
“They reached out? About my application?”
Lysandra’s lips pull into a small smile. “They did.”
“And . . . And what did you tell them?”
