Chapter 85: The Ghost’s Mercy, or His Trap
{IRIS}
"Shh!" I hissed, glancing at the door. "What if Caroline hears you?"
"Relax." Zephyros waved a hand, and I felt the subtle shift of magic settle over the room. "I placed a simple spell. No one can hear us. This conversation is important, after all."
"Important?" I rose to my feet slowly, smoothing my skirts. Truthfully, I did not want to face him—not with my emotions in disarray like this.
I didn’t want him to see me like this. I felt embarrassed for some reason.
And Zephyros was my only ally now, and even that, I wasn’t sure if he really was my ally.
Somehow, amid everything spiraling around me, I had nearly forgotten about him.
"I didn’t want to interfere with your school life," he continued, righting himself and floating down to stand before me. "But I did allow you to take that tome—the arcane volume from the restricted section. And now I want it back. Before the other staff realize it’s missing."
My stomach dropped.
"Y-you..." Heat rushed to my face. "You knew I stole it?"
He nodded without shame. "Of course."
That explained why it had been so easy to take.
"S-sorry," I murmured. "I really needed it. I will return it as soon as I’m finished with it."
He shrugged, as though it were nothing. "I was occupied with matters beyond the library, so I hadn’t come to see you. I let you take it because I thought it might help. But..." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Nothing in those pages can truly assist you. They require advanced alchemy and ingredients far beyond your reach."
I lowered my head. "I’ll return it tomorrow. First thing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal it. I was just . . . desperate."
"I know." He leaned closer, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "But Iris—stealing from the restricted section is dangerous. You managed it only because I allowed it. And because I knew you wouldn’t be harmed by reading it. There will not be a next time. Do you understand?"
I nodded quickly.
His expression softened again. "Good. Now... that is not the only reason I’m here."
I tilted my head. "Then what is?"
"The past few days," he said, "I wasn’t merely busy with students wreaking havoc in the library and meetings. I was brewing this." He reached into his sleeve and produced a small vial, the liquid inside shimmering faintly. "It’s not easy to brew this."
My breath caught. "Th-this is...?"
"Arcane Tonic. One of the items described in the forbidden tome you stole." He smiled faintly.
"I didn’t steal it. I’m going to return it."
"I brewed this for days in secret, so you better thank me. I know you can’t manifest your arcane—or even feel it properly. And I know what will happen if you don’t."
My fingers trembled as I accepted the vial.
"This potion," he continued, "will allow you to sense your arcane. If nothing else, it will confirm that it exists. And if you’re lucky... it may help you finally manifest it."
"Really?" My voice barely carried. "But—doesn’t this cost a fortune? The ingredients alone—"
He waved a dismissive hand. "I’ve lived a very long time, Iris. I’ve acquired more treasures than I care to count."
"But—"
"It is expensive," he interrupted gently. "And rare. I can only make one. And this may be your last chance."
Emotion tightened my throat. "Thank you. I owe you more than I can repay, Zephyros."
For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his face.
Then he smiled. "You can repay me someday."
"What would you like in return?"
He considered, eyes distant. "I’ll decide later."
Without warning, he reached out, fingers threading lightly into my hair. He leaned close and inhaled softly, a gesture so intimate it stole my breath.
"For now," he murmured, "take care of yourself, Iris."
And then he was gone.
The spell lifted. The air felt heavier.
I stood alone in the bath chamber, staring down at the vial glowing faintly in my palm.
I did not know whether Zephyros spoke the truth—or whether this was some elaborate prank. A test. A gamble.
But I had no other choice.
This potion could damn me... or save me.
I drank it because I had nothing left to lose.
The vial was cold against my fingers, its glass faintly clouded as if the liquid inside refused clarity.
The potion shimmered faintly—neither warm nor cold in color, neither inviting nor repulsive. It simply was, suspended between states, like everything else in my life had become.
I did not hesitate.
I tipped my head back and swallowed it in one gulp, the taste sharp and metallic, with a bitter undertone that burned briefly at the back of my throat.
My eyes slid shut as instinct took over, my body bracing for pain, for transformation, for something.
A pulse.
A rupture.
A scream clawing its way out of my chest.
Anything.
But nothing happened.
No heat. No surge of arcane pressure. No shattering of the senses or violent awakening of power. The silence that followed was far crueller than pain could have been.
I opened my eyes slowly.
The vial lay empty in my hand, its weight suddenly obscene, mocking in its lightness.
My heart sank—not sharply, not dramatically—but in a slow, suffocating descent, like being lowered into deep water with no promise of air.
My chest felt tight.
Wrong.
A strange heaviness settled behind my ribs, and with it came an unfamiliar dread—quiet, insidious, crawling rather than striking.
I frowned at the vial, then clenched it harder than necessary.
"Did that ghost..." I muttered, my voice barely louder than a breath, "...prank me again?"
The thought made my stomach twist.
No.
No—this was worse than a prank.
A sick realization crept in, sharp and belated.
Rather... what did I just drink?
The room seemed to tilt, though my feet remained firmly planted. The air thickened, pressing against my lungs in a way that felt agonizing.
I was so stupid.
So unbelievably, recklessly stupid.
Trusting him—of all things—him. A ghost. A creature who almost killed me the first time.
My grip loosened, and the empty vial slipped from my fingers, clinking softly against the stone floor.
