Chapter Five: Thorns, Mirrors, and a Favor
Arabella POV
Finally, I hunted down all my lecturers—well, mostly their TAs, because professors here are apparently allergic to punctuality—and got registered for all my classes.
Now onto a real crisis.
Transportation.
Because I will not be walking two hours through fog, cursed trees, and emotional damage every single morning. Absolutely not.
I head toward the Department of Thorns and Mirrors, aka the fae department. This school is massive, and I swear I'm clocking in a full-body workout with every step.
From what I've gathered so far, there are four "houses" here, though that's just a fancy term for departments. They don't just handle dorms, they manage class schedules, student affairs, permissions, basically everything race-specific.
House of Night — For vampires. Shadowy, elite, with way too many rules.
House of Prima — For mages. That's Zaire's crowd.
House of Beasts — For werewolves and the occasional rare cat shifter. Like pumas. Extinct, apparently. Rafayel lives here.
House of Thorns and Mirrors — Fae territory. Secretive, ancient, full of mirrored halls and impossible rules.
Which is exactly where I'm headed.
Because if there's one race with access to teleportation runes and spatial magic—it's the fae.
I reach the tall, ivy-covered building and knock on the door.
It opens before I can touch it.
Old, polished wood swings wide with a creak. I step inside.
And immediately regret everything.
Mirrors.
Everywhere.
Wall-length mirrors. Floating mirrors. Mirrors that shimmer when you look at them too long.
This is why everyone hates them.
The air smells like moonlight and perfume. The hallway seems endless.
"If you're going to stare at your reflection, at least fix your lip gloss," a voice says.
I turn.
Standing at the end of the corridor is the most androgynously beautiful man I've ever seen.
Tall. Pointed ears peeking through silvery-blond hair—with streaks of cotton candy pink highlights. His eyes are a strange, glowing lilac. He's barefoot. Of course. He leans lazily against the wall, wearing layered robes that shift color depending on the angle.
He's grinning.
"Elion Faerwyn," he says, with a mock bow.
"Fae royal, trickster extraordinaire, mirror consultant."
"Arabella Solstice," I reply sweetly. "Professional walker of cursed distances."
"Ah, the infamous pink witch."
"You guys love that title more than I do."
"What do you want, mortal?"
"A teleportation rune," I say plainly.
He raises an eyebrow. "You know those aren't public resources. You need permission, mana stabilization, dual-location anchoring—"
"I live two hours away. One way. On foot. In heels. In cursed woods."
"Sounds like a you problem," he says cheerfully.
I sigh dramatically. "Okay, how about a deal? A favor. I'll owe you."
That gets his attention.
He steps closer. I catch a faint shimmer at the edges of his form—glamour magic. He tries to weave it over me.
I blink. Nothing happens.
His smile falters for a second.
"Fascinating," he murmurs.
"You're either incredibly dull or incredibly dangerous."
"Can't it be both?"
He considers. Then nods.
"Very well. I'll help you. In exchange, you owe me a favor. No questions asked. One day."
"You're so dramatic."
"I'm fae. Comes with the cheekbones."
He leads me out of the department without another word. We walk all the way out of the school grounds and into the surrounding woods.
He presses a shimmering rune onto a thick old tree near the academy's outer edge.
"First anchor point," he says.
We walk.
He doesn't complain. Doesn't ask questions.
He just walks by my side. I notice his feet aren't really touching the ground—just hovering there like it's the most normal thing in the world.
I can't believe I've made a favor deal with a fae. They can't be broken. Ever.
He hums a little tune to himself, not speaking. Occasionally, I catch him glancing my way.
Eventually, we arrive at my little house, and I nearly sob in relief. Gone is that rickety, old wooden cabin. In it place stands a pink-colored concrete cottage, elegant and fresh. It actually looks like a place someone might want to live.
"It has been a while since I've been in these parts, but I'm pretty sure this was not here," he says casually.
"Just do your job," I say, folding my arms.
He shrugs, unconcerned, and asks me which tree to use. I point to the one closest to the house. He walks over and begins inscribing a glowing rune into the bark.
When he's done, he turns back to me. "Will you not invite me in for a drink?" he asks with that lazy, teasing smile.
I fold my arms tighter and give him a deadpan stare.
He laughs.
"Okay, okay. A pleasure," he says with an exaggerated bow, then steps back into the tree and disappears.