Chapter 6

He found the Headmistress in the kitchen, but he hadn't expected her to be standing in front of a huge pot, sleeves to be rolled up, arguing with the cook about the proper application of nutmeg.

“…I’m telling you, Elowen,” she said, “the students will revolt if the first-day pudding tastes of cloves again.”

The cook folded her arms. “And I’m telling you, Isola, that cloves are—”

“Headmistress,” Norman interrupted, breath slightly uneven. “A moment, if you please.”

Both women turned. Head Cook Nnyrp gave him a grateful look and held her hand out for the ladle the headmistress was holding. 

The Headmistress handed it back, reluctantly, her cheeks flushed from the heat and, probably, the conversation. “Caldus,” she said lightly. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” he said. “A portal.”

That got her attention. “Walk with me.”

They crossed the courtyard, gravel crunching beneath their shoes. Norman kept his voice low as he explained — the painting, the override, the book. Her expression sharpened with every detail, until by the time they reached the main staircase, her usual composure had become something colder.

“And you’re certain,” she said, “that it was you who authored the book?”

He hesitated. “The author’s name is mine. But the language—it’s not my voice. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly,” she repeated. “That’s not the reassurance you think it is. You should have brought the book directly to me,” she said, starting the climb to the library. “If the portal is open on both sides, we cannot assume the transmission was benign.”

“I wanted to confirm that it was genuine before alarming anyone unnecessarily,” Norman said. “And Miss Thorn—she was the one who found it. I didn't see any harm in returning it to her.”

“You didn't see the harm,” the Headmistress said sharply. “Where have I heard that before?"

Norman winced.

"I'm sorry," she said, immediately. "But we need that book back, Caldus. Immediately. If it crossed over once, it could again. And I will not have an open conduit sitting in a student’s room.”

“I’ll retrieve it,” he said.

“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “We will. Together. As soon as we close the portal from our side."

He frowned. “I disabled the mechanisms,” he said, trying not to sound like a sulky teenager.

“I’ve been at Blackmere longer than you have, Caldus,” she said, starting to sound winded from the stairs. 

She didn't say finish that thought out loud, but she didn't have to. When he'd been a student and the headmistress a professor, he'd gotten his mentor, Sera, sent through a portal in his place, and she'd never returned. He kicked himself for being so careless with an artifact apparently tossed through a different portal. He'd thought he'd left his recklessness behind with his teenage years.

The stained-glass windows filtered the sunlight into narrow, drifting beams, and in their colors, dust motes turned like thought made visible. The library was just as quiet as it had been earlier, except that Matilda Wynn was at her desk. 

She stopped writing and looked up in surprise when the headmistress and Norman walked in. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come in today," she said, her full lips curving up into a smile. 

"At least we're not students," the Headmistress said, returning the smile. She glanced at Norman. "Does she know?"

"She wasn't here earlier," Norman said. He would have been okay if he didn't have any more witnesses to his folly, but he supposed that it was only fair for Matilda to know what was happening in her own library.

Headmistress Enath let out a breath. "You should probably come with us," she said to Matilda. She led them through the rows of shelves with the same confidence she brought to every crisis — deliberate steps, spine straight, eyes bright. Norman followed, a pace behind.

The painting still hung above the open dictionary. The air before it shimmered faintly, as if the light itself were breathing.

"It's open," Matilda said, shock in her voice. 

Headmistress Enath turned to look at Matilda. "When was the last time you were over here?" She paused at the librarian's flush, and gentled her voice. "Not an accusation, I'm just trying to figure out how long it's been open."

Matilda relaxed. She thought for a moment. "I looked up a word in the dictionary last week," she said. "I have been all around, getting ready for the new semester, so I may have been in the vicinity. I think I would have noticed it open, even if I wasn't looking at it directly," she said, distressed.

The headmistress nodded. "That's a relief," she said. "Do you remember what day last week you were over here?"

Matilda shook her head.

The headmistress thought for a moment. "Okay," she said. "So, a week-and-a-half at the most. Could be worse."

She examined the frame, finding the mechanism that should have held the portal closed. She clicked the mechanism open, then closed again. Nothing happened. 

She pulled out a rod and touched the rod to the lower edge of the frame. The air vibrated — a soft, metallic hum that built on itself, rising to a pitch just below pain. From the painted glen came the faint rustle of leaves and a glimmer of movement. The fairies were gone, but there were still two unicorns, one napping, one grazing. The grazing unicorn looked over.

"Wow," Matilda breathed. She waved at the unicorn. A glimmer of light built up from its horn and flew through the portal, bathing her in iridescent light for a moment. She stood there, dazed. "It blessed me," she said.

"Cute," the headmistress said, shortly. Norman thought she was trying not to sound jealous. "We need to close this before something less cute tries to come through -- if it hasn't already," she added, with a glare toward Norman.

She adjusted the tuning rod. The hum shifted down, steadier. She drew a breath. “By Blackmere’s breath and the seal of its keepers, close your eye and rest.”

The painting flared — every line and color trembling, as though it were being redrawn from within. The grazing unicorn froze, the waterfalls stilled into silver streaks. The light bent, warped, and folded inward.

Then the light collapsed.

The room snapped back to itself. The waterfalls moved again, but the shimmer before the portal was gone.

She turned from the painting. “Let’s retrieve the book.”

"Book?" Matilda asked, recovering from her blessing. She still looked a bit dazed, but she led the way back to her desk as Norman filled her in.

"Maybe it is still working," she said, walking around the desk and seating herself behind it. "I'm dying to read it."

"Maybe you're a librarian," Norman countered, smiling.

“You understand what it means if the book was sent from your counterpart?” the Headmistress asked.

“Not really," Norman admitted. "He -- I -- he either sent it as a clue or to keep it safe from someone in his world."

"Unless he's evil medieval you," Matilda added. "Then he could have sent it for all kinds of nefarious reasons," she chuckled. She threw up her hands as the headmistress and Norman turned to look at her. "I'm mostly joking."

"What a delightful possibility," the headmistress said, glaring at Norman. “Let’s go find Miss Thorn.”