Page 139 of Magical Mission
Or the right heart.
And deep down, I had a feeling that it was waiting for me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The golden shimmer of the path still pulsed faintly behind me as I stepped back through the Academy’s garden doors. The warmth of the hallways welcomed me, with faint lavender oil drifting from the sconces and book sprites rustling softly above the chandeliers. But my thoughts were far from calm.
The conversation with Stella played over and over in my head like a looped melody, too ancient to understand but too familiar to ignore.
A calling path.
I didn’t like that it had a name.
Yet I liked that I hadn’t accidentally created it.
But I liked even less that I suspected it was addressed to me.
I made my way through the corridor in front of me, past the map room that had just revealed itself, and the hall of mirrors, then up the narrow stone staircase toward the quiet and less traveled wing, where my grandmother liked to settle in during the day to stay out of the students’ way.
She was exactly where I expected her to be, seated in the sunroom alcove with a steaming cup of vanilla-rose tea. Herrobes were wrapped snugly around her like a coiled cloud. The fire crackled gently beside her. She didn’t look up when I entered. She never had to.
“I was wondering how long it would take you,” she said.
I hesitated in the doorway. “To come see you?”
“To ask about the path.”
I exhaled and walked in, sinking into the worn chair across from her. “So, you know.”
“The Academy whispered it to me this morning.” She took a sip of tea. “It hums when something changes, and I recognized what the something was.”
I leaned forward, rubbing my hands together absently. “I was told it’s not dangerous. At least, not immediately. Stella thinks it’s a calling path.”
My grandma set her teacup down slowly, her eyes not on me but somewhere far behind me, as if she were looking through time.
“She’s right.”
“You’ve seen one?”
“I’ve walked beside one,” she said. “Once. I didn’t go through it. But I watched someone who did.”
Her expression changed, then softened at the edges. Sadness flickered behind her eyes, but no sign of regret.
“Who?” I asked.
“My sister,” she said. “Miora.”
Shock rattled through me. Great Aunt Miora, back at the cottage, who floated between rooms, walls, and memories, had walked this path?
“Tell me what it looks like,” Grandma Elira said softly.
“Golden. Misty. Alive. It wasn’t there yesterday.”
Her eyes sparkled, though there was a heaviness beneath them. “And it’s humming to you.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I haven’t gone through. Not yet. But it’s… watching.”
She nodded slowly and exhaled, her breath clouding faintly in the window light. “You’ve found a path.”
