Two tiny droplets of black maka oil were placed under Nurse Polledo’s nostrils. The pungent odor filled the infirmary like a wave of rotting wood and burnt almonds. Claire gagged and turned away as Thomas shoved a wad of crushed root pulp into her hands.

  "He doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he?" she muttered, tying the pulp into a small plastic bag and knotting it as tightly as possible.

  Thomas ignored her. He was pacing. His fingers drummed against his lip, his breath uneven. Every few seconds, he glanced at Lily—still trapped in her unrelenting sleep.

  Nothing was happening. The oil should’ve worked by now.

  Mystic stood frozen, watching. The longer the silence stretched, the tighter her fists clenched.

  Nurse Polledo suddenly jerked. A choking cough ripped from her throat. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and disoriented.

  Claire exhaled sharply, almost dropping the bag.

  Polledo wiped the excess oil dripping from her nose and blinked blearily at the group. Her eyes landed on Abelle and Elora—who were still pressing the failing relaxation charm against Lily’s forehead.

  With a sharp inhale, she scrambled to her feet.

  "Move."

  She shoved the girls aside, stepping between them. Her fingers flicked as words rolled from her tongue in a steady incantation.

  The charm reignited and the green light burned hovering over Lily brighter than before.Lily shuddered violently, her body convulsing—then, suddenly, everything went still.

  The room held its breath. For the first time in four and a half hours, Lily’s body was at rest. But she was still asleep.

  Nurse Polledo stepped back, exhaling. "That girl’s a fighter," she muttered, shaking out her hands.

  She turned to Abelle. "You should be proud. Holding a charm that long isn’t easy."

  Then, her gaze landed on Thomas. "Where did you get the maka oil?"

  Thomas hesitated. For the first time since he ran in here, his fidgeting stilled."I—" He swallowed. "I made it."

  Polledo raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Good instincts."

  Claire watched Thomas carefully. He hadn’t stopped looking at Lily. She was still. Too still.

  Mystic noticed it too. She turned her eyes to Thomas, but this time, the anger started creeping back in.

  "What’s wrong with her?" Mystic demanded.

  Thomas flinched. “I—" He turned away. His hands clenched into his hoodie.

  Claire narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t just avoiding Mystic’s gaze—he was avoiding all of theirs. Something clicked into place.

  "Oh, hell no." Mystic took a step forward. "You—"

  Thomas inhaled sharply. He ran a hand through his hair. His voice came out strained. "It was an intellect spell.”

  The air dropped. Everyone stared at him.

  Mystic’s whole body tensed. "What?"

  Thomas still wouldn’t look at her. "It—it must have—when Lily broke the glass, the spell must have—"

  His breath hitched. "Oh my god."

  Mystic looked like she was about to hit him. "You poisoned them, Thomas. The faculty. The students. Lily. What the hell did you do?"

  Thomas shook his head violently. "No. No way. That’s not possible."

  "Explain why your recipe is the only thing they all have in common, then!"

  "I don’t—" He ran a hand over his face, his breath shuddering.

  Mystic shoved him.

  "You’re the only one who could’ve done it!"

  "I didn’t do it on purpose!" Thomas finally snapped, his voice cracking.

  The room fell silent. Mystic’s face was burning red. Claire felt her own breath unsteady.

  Thomas stared at Lily. His throat worked as he tried to swallow back the lump forming there. "I—" His voice wavered. "I never meant for this."

  For the first time, Mystic hesitated. She turned away, clenching her fists. "Then fix it.”

  Polledo exhaled, regaining control. "Enough. Get that to everyone who was infected on this campus.” She grabbed a small eyedropper from the cabinet and thrust it into Thomas’s hands.

  "One drop under the nostrils. Not two."

  Thomas hesitated only for a second before bolting out the door.

  Polledo glanced at the others. "Well? Someone go with him."

  Silence. Abelle, Elora, and Mystic all avoided her gaze.

  Claire rolled her eyes and pushed past them. "Fine. I’ll do it."

  * * *

  The oil was effective. By the time students settled into their first classes of the day, the professors were back to normal,wide awake and acting as if nothing had happened. Volk, however, wasn’t willing to let things slide so easily. After the “fudge fiasco,” as Mr. Ednill had already coined it, all bake sales were put on hold until further notice.

  Yesterday’s chaotic energy had drained into a cold, heavy silence.

  Ednill’s homeroom was dead quiet. The only sounds were the occasional sniffles, soft shuffling of paper, and the rhythmic scratching of pens as students wrote their surprise in-class essays on The Golden Age of Practical Spell-casting.

  Claire barely heard the sounds around her, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. She skimmed the last lines of her essay, Ancient Weather Spells and the Modern Mermaid, before sighing in relief. At least this part of the day was normal. She raised her hand, signaling Mr. Ednill over, then handed him her paper. He gave a small nod at the title, intrigued, before gesturing that she could leave.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Claire pulled in her chair and grabbed her backpack, casting a glance across the classroom.

  Abelle and Mystic were both reviewing their essays, occasionally pausing to make edits. Elora, who still had a stack of blank loose-leaf beside her, was clearly still on her first draft. And to the right of Elora, Lily’s seat sat empty.

  Claire’s stomach twisted. Lily still hadn’t woken up. She turned away before she could dwell on it further, heading toward the door—only to be shoved aside by Nick.

  He barely spared her a glance as he shouldered past, his spellbook tucked under his arm.

  Claire scowled, rubbing her shoulder. Rude. She watched as he disappeared into the hallway, something about his rushed, deliberate pace striking her as odd.

  Nick moved with purpose, his backpack slung haphazardly over his shoulder as he traveled away from the east wing classrooms.

  Claire, acting on an impulse she couldn't quite explain, followed. She tried to keep her steps light.

  Nick turned the corner into the old limestone hallway.

  Claire slowed, peeking from behind the frame. She watched, eyes narrowing, as Nick raised his hand and pressed it against the stone wall. The air shimmered. Her breath caught as the stone shifted, swirling into mist.

  In one swift step, Nick vanished into the black fog— and then, just like that, the doorway sealed itself shut behind him.

  Claire’s pulse pounded in her ears. She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, pressing her hand to the bumpy limestone. The surface felt solid. Nothing out of the ordinary. What the hell did I just see?

  The bell screeched through the halls, breaking her trance. The silence of study hour dissolved into the sounds of students talking, chairs scraping, and doors opening.

  Claire pulled her hand back, shivering. She didn't know why, but something about that door, about Nick felt wrong.

  If anyone could tell her what that place was, it was Abelle. Claire turned, weaving through the hallways until she finally spotted Abelle, heading toward the infirmary. “Hey!” Claire caught up, matching Abelle’s pace.

  Abelle gave her a brief glance, then raised a brow. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Claire ignored the comment. “She’s still asleep, isn’t she?”

  She could tell by Abelle’s long, unenthusiastic sigh that the answer was yes.

  “Nurse Polledo kept the relaxation charm going all night,” Abelle muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Still nothing.”

  Claire hesitated, then took a breath. “I want to help. If you guys will let me.”

  Abelle paused. The request took her off guard, but she didn’t immediately dismiss it.

  Before she could say anything, Claire lowered her voice. “I saw him.”

  Abelle blinked. “Saw who?”

  “Nick.”

  That made Abelle stop walking altogether.

  Claire glanced around before pulling her aside. “I saw him go through a wall in the old hallway. There was mist. Like a portal. And then it was gone.”

  Abelle’s grip tightened on Claire’s wrist. “You saw it?” she hissed.

  Claire nodded.

  Abelle exhaled slowly, jaw clenching. She should have been surprised, but honestly? She wasn’t. She had known her brother was hiding something. She had felt it when she and Lily were trapped in that room. Now, Claire had just confirmed it.

  Abelle dropped Claire’s arm, running a hand through her hair. "Look," she said, voice low. “I don’t know what that place is. I don’t know how he got access to it, or why. But I do know that he trapped me and Lily in there on Saturday.”

  Claire’s breath hitched. “Trapped?”

  Abelle’s gaze was sharp. Dead serious. “Claire, you need to know when not to cross the line. Nick Quire is that line. Don’t make the same mistake we did.”

  Claire swallowed.

  There was a pause before Abelle sighed and finally relented. “If you really want to help, come by my dorm—137E—after class. You seem to know more than I give you credit for.” She hesitated, then added, “Maybe you can help us figure out why Lily still isn’t waking up.”

  Claire nodded, determination settling in. She wasn't going to let this go. Something was wrong. And she was determined to find out what.

  Elora stood in Abelle’s dorm room, arms rigidly crossed, her glare fixed on Claire like a blade. “Why is she here?” she spat, her upper lip curling with open contempt.

  Claire tensed but held her ground. This again.

  “I invited her,” Abelle answered, her voice calm but firm. She glanced at Claire before facing Elora again. “She said she’d help us figure out what’s wrong with Lily.”

  Elora scoffed. “Oh, really? Because everything that’s gone wrong—the mermaid attack in Stewart’s class, the coma, the entire faculty falling asleep like enchanted puppets, just happens to have started after she arrived?” She took a step closer, eyes narrowing.

  Claire felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

  Elora’s voice hardened. “How do we know you’re not causing it?”

  Claire’s stomach twisted. A beat of silence. Never in her life had she been vilified like this."Excuse me?” Claire’s voice cut through the air, sharper than she intended. Her pulse pounded in her throat.

  “You heard me,” Elora shot back. “You conveniently show up, and suddenly everything starts falling apart. For all we know, you’re some kind of spy...or worse.”

  Mystic shifted uncomfortably but remained quiet.

  Claire felt something prickle behind her eyes. A mixture of frustration and something she refused to name. She clenched her fists.

  “First of all,” she snapped, “the professors all falling asleep was Thomas’s fault, not mine. And second, have you even considered that maybe I’m just as confused as you are?!”

  Elora’s jaw tightened.

  "I came here because I want to help, not because I had anything to do with this!" Claire’s voice rose, her anger barely contained. "But sure, go ahead, blame me for your problems. That makes way more sense than actually solving them!"

  Abelle shifted, looking between the two of them. Claire’s shoulders were rigid, her face flushed. And for the first time, something in her expression cracked.

  Claire was tired.

  Elora scoffed, but she hesitated.

  Abelle saw it.

  "You really expect us to believe that?" Elora crossed her arms tighter, as if holding herself together. "You don’t belong in this. This is Lily’s problem—so her friends should be the ones figuring out how to fix it.”

  Claire inhaled sharply. “Right. Message received.”

  Abelle winced.

  Claire forced a cold smirk and turned for the door. “You obviously don’t want my help.” Her voice came out flat.“Thanks for the invite.”

  She was halfway out when Abelle shot up from the bed.

  "Claire, wait!"

  Claire didn’t stop. The door clicked shut. Silence fell over the room like a crushing weight.

  Abelle turned, slowly. She stared at Elora, her expression unreadable. “Nice one, Elora,” she muttered.

  Elora’s throat tightened.

  Mystic rubbed her arms. “That was...a little harsh, Elora.”

  Elora looked away. "Whatever," she muttered. But something lingered in her eyes.

  Abelle sat back down, heart pounding.

  She hadn’t thought much about Claire before. But now? Now, she felt like they had just pushed away someone who actually cared.

  * * *

  Claire barely noticed the cold sting of the evening air as she trudged through the forest. Her head pounded with Elora’s words, looping like a cursed incantation.

  "How do we know you’re not causing this? This is Lily’s problem. Her friends should be the ones fixing it.” She clenched her jaw. Like I haven’t been trying?

  A branch snapped beneath her foot, the sound shattering the unnatural stillness of the woods. The ward lines were close now. She could feel them, humming beneath her skin, a tingling sensation in her bones. Crossing them required precision. One misstep, and she’d be lost to the magic’s unpredictable defenses.

  Claire exhaled, counted to three, and stepped forward.

  The magic shifted around her, parting just enough to let her through. A small, bitter satisfaction twisted in her chest. At least I know how to do something right.

  The sea pool awaited her, nestled in the heart of the untouched forest, a hidden sanctuary no one else seemed to care about. The water shimmered under the dimming light, reflecting the sky in ripples of deep cerulean and silver.

  She slipped into the pool, her legs dissolving into the long, flowing tail that felt more natural than anything on land ever did. The weight of the world lessened immediately, the cool embrace of the water soothing the heat behind her eyes.

  "Stupid. I’m so stupid. Of course, they wouldn’t want my help. Why would they?"

  Her tail flicked, sending soft waves lapping against the obsidian rocks. The water didn’t judge her. The water didn’t accuse her. It simply existed with her, as it always had. Claire closed her eyes.

  Then came the roar of an engine.

  Her eyes snapped open.A car?

  The hum of the old motor echoed through the trees, struggling against the uneven terrain. That wasn’t normal.

  She swam closer to the shore, ducking behind the largest rock, her fingers pressing into the damp stone.

  The engine sputtered, then choked off. Moments later, a door slammed shut. "Ol’ hunk-a-junk!" a gruff voice shouted.

  A second door followed with a heavy thunk. "The motor cap blew again, didn’t it?" another voice said, this one steadier, calmer. "I’ll fix it."

  Claire's breath slowed as she listened. Who were they? And why had they stopped here, so close to the school?

  "I’ll let Benny know we’ll be a bit late. He’ll wanna know what’s taking us so long."

  The name hit her like a shock of ice. Benny? Her fingers tightened around the rock.

  "You sure we really need to be here?" one of them muttered. "It’s been centuries since we had a true case."

  "I trust Benedict Volk with my own life. If he believes there’s a Nightmare in the school, then I sure as heck am gonna help that poor student unlucky enough to be its vessel."

  Claire’s stomach plummeted as the car rumbled back to life, continuing its slow trek toward the academy gates.