Page 21 of Arcanist
Not that the Talcott heir has caused any earthquakes since he was a teenager, but still, his reputation lingers.
Once home, I head straight for my bed, and the phone I left there. Thankfully, it’s been on charge this whole time, so I don’t have to wait. Opening the messaging app, I quickly add all of the girls in our class to a group chat.
Lambert Winthrop:
Hi ladies! I need a favour…
Seven
Kyrith
It seemed rather radical to close the Arcanaeum for the holidays, but the building took the decision out of my hands, and I’m grateful for it.
Almost three weeks of peace has allowed me to come to terms with my new half-life. Perhaps that’s why the Library did it. All of that time without experiencing a single deathly re-enactment has definitely rejuvenated me, and time apart from the heirs has helped me regain my composure. The only man I’ve seen since ‘the pizza incident’ has been North, and that was on Christmas Day when Eddy demanded his presence. And it was nice. More than nice. Homey.
I spent most of my break curled up in the world’s most comfortable reading nook, cradling warm mugs of tea as I turned pages with grateful reverence. I missed paper so much. Showers are a novel experience, and one I’ve wholeheartedly embraced, along with scalding-hot baths. Soft blankets are gradually taking over my side of the clock tower, although I’ll deny it if anyone asks.
For the first time since I can remember, I feel human. Having the space to reclaim that for myself without dealing with pushy heirs and their dubious motivations has been priceless.
It’s also given me time to get used to the added layer of perception that is having normal senses on top of the Arcanaeum’s. The first few times Eddy thundered down the stairs unexpectedly, I almost fell over. Having the building tied to a living body is like developing an entirely new set of senses, and while it isn’t so bad when I’m a ghost, it’s taken some getting used to in my physical form.
The Arcanaeum may have enforced our closure, but it’s rustling with anticipation as the doors begin to open on the second of January, admitting arcanists from across the world. The new academic term officially begins next week, but nineteen days of closure is the longest in the Arcanaeum’s history. I am recovered, rested, and ready to get back to work.
Plus…I missed the heirs, as crazy as that sounds. I grew used to their company. Now that I’m alive, I’d like to experience all the emotions they bring with them to their fullest extent.
And yes, I’m vividly aware that I may regret saying that later, given their tendency to vex me.
Hopkinson is among the first to arrive, bouncing towards my desk like it’s not bright and early on a Monday morning. The stampede of other footsteps entering is disconcerting for a second, but I practiced ignoring Eddy’s movements around the building, and I draw on that experience to mute it.
The magister draws up short when he catches sight of me, and I have to stop myself from fiddling with the ruffles around the scooping neckline of my blouse.
Eddy says the outfit we settled on is ‘librarian chic’, which felt a little on the nose, but I do like the way the flared plaid skirt and white airy bell sleeves make me feel when I’m in myphysical form. They don’t look too bad when I’m ghosting either, which I’ve resolved to continue doing while the Arcanaeum is open to patrons.
They’ll get used to my outfit changing, but I think my revival is better kept private. I’m not about to invite questions I don’t know the answers to or broadcast a potential new weakness.
Can I be killed in my physical form?
I have no idea.
I stubbed my toe and felt it. I bled from the paper cut I received while stacking shelves; therefore, I can be wounded. Returning to my ghost form healed both but drained the Arcanaeum’s reserves infinitesimally. I’d like to assume that, as long as the building stands, I can’t be killed, but I have no real proof of that, so caution seems prudent. Especially while we’re caught in the middle of so many quibbling families.
The loss of the cracks will hopefully put to rest any rumours of my instability, at least.
“Librarian…” Hopkinson reaches me, takes in my new outfit curiously, then finally says, “All set for a new term?”
Nice manners,I muse fondly,are criminally undervalued. Younger arcanists would be sticking their noses where they don’t belong, but he’s old enough and wise enough to know when to mind his own business.
“Indeed.” I adjust the ruffled cuffs, frowning as a group of patrons enters the Rotunda from the Bewitching Hall entrance, chattering a little too loudly for my taste. “I’m happy to continue hosting your lectures if you still wish to hold them here. Your classroom is ready for you to begin next week.”
He beams, and I find my own lips quirking in response.
Magic, now I’m smiling. Whatever next?
“Wonderful! I was so hoping you’d say that, but of course, one ought never to be presumptuous?—”
Someone clears their throat, and he turns, looking at the line of patrons that’s formed behind him.
“Ah, I’m holding up the queue. Only to be expected, I suppose. I hope you enjoyed your Christmas!”
