The Quiet Magic of Holloway

Chapter 5

"Wait," Lyra projected, her mind flashing the thought like a stop sign.

She stood frozen in the center of Malakai’s chaotic office, the whiskey glass still warm in her hand.

"Leave? As in… drop out? I can’t do that. I have one and a half terms left. My grandmother’s legacy scholarship requires me to walk the stage at graduation. If I leave now, I lose everything that I have worked so hard to maintain the last 4 years."

Malakai paused, looking up from the map he was already rolling up. He blinked, as if remembering that normal people had to follow rules.

"Right," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. "Degree requirements. I forgot about the bureaucracy."

He leaned back against the desk, the dangerous intensity softening into something more pragmatic.

"Relax, Cadet. I’m not asking you to drop out. I’ve already handled the administration."

He tapped the parchment contract on the desk.

"This is officially classified as a 'High-Level Independent Research Internship.' It replaces your standard seminars and combat drills for the remainder of the Winter and Spring terms."

Lyra stepped closer, reading the fine print of the document. Field Supervisor: Commander Malakai. Course Credit: 24 Hours (Full Load). Subject: Advanced Archival Preservation.

"Archival Preservation?" she projected skeptically. "That sounds incredibly boring. Everyone is going to think I’m dusting bookshelves for you."

"Good," Malakai said, a wicked glint returning to his eyes. "Let them think it’s boring. Let them think you’re my glorified secretary. The work we are doing is dangerous, Lyra. The less attention we attract from the other students, and from the spies within the Council, the better."

He walked over to her, taking the empty glass from her hand and setting it down.

"But because the work is sensitive, you can’t stay in the undergraduate dorms anymore. The walls are too thin, and teenage wolves are too nosy."

He gestured to the window, pointing toward the North Tower, a secluded spire connected to the main castle by a covered stone bridge.

"The Research Fellowship quarters. You’ll move in there tonight. It’s quiet. It’s secure. And it’s connected directly to my office and the lower Vaults."

Lyra’s breath hitched. The Research quarters were essentially private apartments. She would be living down the hall from him. Working with him all day. Alone.

"So," she projected, trying to sound professional despite the flutter in her stomach. "I’m your intern."

"On paper? Yes," Malakai said. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "In reality? You’re my partner. We have six months until graduation to train your mind to handle the Artifacts. If we succeed, we change history. If we fail..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The vibrating stone on the table was a reminder of what happened when the magic went wrong.

"Pack your things," Malakai said, checking the heavy silver watch on his wrist. "Be in the North Tower by curfew. We start training at 0600."

The move was efficient, if awkward.

Lyra packed her meager belongings, woolen sweaters, second-hand books, and her alchemy kit, into her trunk. She didn't have much. The life of a mute scholarship student didn't come with many luxuries.

The hardest part was the Common Room.

As she dragged her trunk through the Fox Shifter den, heads turned. The room went quiet.

"Leaving so soon, Grayson?"

Damon Kress was lounging by the fire, flanked by his usual sycophants. He stood up, blocking her path to the door.

"I heard a rumor," Damon sneered, sniffing the air. "They say the Executor pulled you for a special project. An internship."

He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "What kind of internship requires a mute? Is he hiring you to clean his boots? Or is it... something else?"

He looked her up and down with a crude, suggestive smirk. "Maybe the Commander likes quiet girls because they can't tell anyone what he does to them."

Heat flooded Lyra’s face, not from shame, but from pure, white-hot rage.

She gripped the handle of her trunk. She looked Damon in the eye.

The connection opened. She could hurt him. She could blast a sound of screeching feedback into his skull that would make his ears bleed. Malakai had said she was a weapon.

But she remembered Malakai’s other words. "Let them think it’s boring."

If she hurt Damon now, she proved she was powerful. She blew her cover.

Lyra forced her face to remain blank. She broke eye contact, cutting the link before she did something she’d regret. She simply sidestepped him, dragging her trunk around his massive bulk like he was a piece of furniture.

"Hey!" Damon shouted, grabbing her shoulder. "Don't ignore me, you—"

"Let her go, Kress."

The voice came from the doorway. It wasn't Malakai.

It was Kieran.

The fox shifter was leaning against the doorframe, looking unusually serious. He wasn't physically imposing; he was half Damon’s size, but he held a wand loosely in his hand, sparks of red chaotic magic dripping from the tip.

"She has faculty clearance," Kieran said calmly. "Touch her again, and I’ll turn your insides into jelly. You know my hexes are unstable, Damon. I might accidentally remove your... manhood."

Damon hesitated. He looked at Kieran’s sparking wand, then at Lyra’s indifferent back. He sneered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Whatever," Damon muttered, stepping back. "She's not worth the paperwork."

Lyra didn't wait. She hauled her trunk out into the corridor, Kieran falling into step beside her.

They walked in silence until they reached the bridge to the North Tower.

"So," Kieran said, his voice quiet. "It's true then? You're moving out?"

Lyra stopped. She looked at her only friend. She felt a pang of guilt. She couldn't tell him the truth about the Artifacts.

"It’s just for the credits," she projected, giving him a reassuring smile. "Boring archival work. Lots of dusting."

Kieran studied her face. He didn't look convinced. Foxes were perceptive; they knew when someone was hiding a hen.

"Be careful, Lyra," he whispered, glancing toward the looming shadow of the North Tower. "Malakai… he’s not like the other professors. He’s dangerous. My inner wolf wants to run every time he walks into a room."

"I’ll be fine," she promised. ‘I’m good at being invisible.’

"Not anymore," Kieran said, looking at her with a sad smile. "You're walking right into the spotlight, Lyra. Just… don't let him burn you."

Lyra squeezed his hand briefly, gave him a big hug, to which he returned, and then turned and walked across the bridge.

The wind howled around the stone walkway, whipping her hair across her face. Ahead, the North Tower stood dark and silent against the snowy sky.

A single light was burning in the top window.

Malakai was waiting.