It was around three in the morning before Professor Meleri Pixton caught herself falling asleep.  Her candle was burning low, its gentle flicker choreographing a dance of light and shadow on the parchment before her. Her quill had fallen out of her hand.

 

Thankfully, as her head had slumped forward, she managed to avoid knocking over her inkwell. It needs to be refilled anyway, she thought. She leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through the blonde hair which fell just past her ears. She took her glasses off and wiped them.

 

She was sitting in her private workshop, a couple hallways down from her teaching workshop in the School of Alchemy. It was in one of the more remote corners of the building, which Meleri often liked, as it meant quiet and seclusion. There were, however, times when she stayed tinkering late into the night, long after everyone else had left the building. She could usually justify this by reminding herself how safe Weirhaven’s campus was. But the Head Maven’s announcement in this morning’s coven had shaken that feeling of security.

 

“Weirhaven College, in cooperation with the City of Swefnwicc, is investigating two suspicious events that have occurred on or around campus within the past week,” Professor Silverthorn had begun. “We unfortunately must report that a Weirhaven first-year by the name of Bedelia Ecclestone was reported missing by her dormmates this morning. We are in the midst of a campus-wide search for Ms. Ecclestone, but have not been successful in finding her as of yet.

 

“Normally I would consider such an announcement, at this time, early in the investigation, to be premature. However, the recent context surrounding Ms. Ecclestone’s disappearance may be cause for increased concern. Seven days ago, another Weirhaven first-year, who shall remain unnamed, was found disheveled and disoriented in an alley behind a tavern in Swefnwicc. Upon her discovery by the tavern staff, they noted that the student’s behavior had seemed odd; she entered the tavern alone and proceeded to order drinks in rapid succession before calmly exiting the establishment.

 

“The tavern staff recalled that they had never seen this student in the tavern alone—always with friends—and that she ordered in the drinks in monotone, struggling to engage in conversation. This behavior caused the staff to believe she could be under the effects of neurokinesis, most likely exaixos.

 

“Once their concern was relayed to Weirhaven College, we had the student evaluated by faculty Psionics. While they couldn’t determine for sure whether the student had been placed under exaixos, they could confirm with relative certainty that the student had had an advanced memory alteration charm performed on her, mentis rasa, epilanthos.

 

“These two separate events, taken together, suggest that we may have a bad actor operating within Weirhaven and, more broadly, within Swefnwicc. We urge all students to exercise caution when walking at night and to travel in groups of at least two. While Weirhaven is not instituting a curfew at this time, we withhold the right should we eventually deem it necessary.

 

“Lastly, we are still actively searching for Ms. Ecclestone, whom was last seen exiting Beynon Library this past midnight. If any students saw Ms. Ecclestone—or saw any strange activity around campus last night—please come forward. Any small piece of information could be key. Of course, we hold out hope that there is a… more innocent reason for her absence.”

 

Meleri's ruminations were abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door, which startled her so much that she nearly knocked over several flasks on her desk as she jumped. She quickly glanced over at the old grandfather clock in the corner. Who would come knocking at this hour? She reached for her wand.

 

“Who’s there?” she yelled, trying to sound intimidating.

 

She heard the knob turn and the hinges squeal as the door slowly swung open. A tall wizard stepped in, his black robes billowing with his strides. He had gray streaks running through his shoulder-length black hair. His goatee, too, was a mix of black and gray. His eyes were a piercing blue and he wore a thick gold chain around his neck. Meleri recognized him immediately.

 

“Professor Beardwood?”

 

He flashed a toothy smile, “Professor Pixton, what on earth are you doing up so late?”

 

“I’m… working on a new… elixir,” she said, trying to process what was happening. “Professor Beardwood, what are you doing on Weirhaven’s campus so late?”

 

“Please, call me Brython. We’re colleagues, after all,” he said, taking a seat opposite her desk. “And you, of course, know that Professor Silverthorn has requested that Druicraeft professors assist in the nightly patrols of your campus.”

 

“Is that what this is? A patrol?”

 

He chuckled, “I saw the light coming from the window and decided to investigate. That’s all.”

 

Meleri remained tense. Something didn’t feel quite right. But at the same time, she was conflicted. Brython Beardwood was a legend in the field of dendrology, and she had heard he was quite skilled in alchemy as well. To have a professor of such high stature sitting across from her, for a seemingly casual conversation, was a rarity.

 

“Well—um—thank you for being cautious,” she managed to spit out. “I tend to work late some nights, especially when I feel like I’m close to a breakthrough.”

 

He leaned back and rubbed his goatee. “You’re close to a breakthrough? I’m curious—do tell.”

 

 She caught herself smiling, “Yes, very close. If I stay on this track, I’ll finally produce the wakefulness elixir I’ve been working on for so long.

 

“Wakefulness elixir?” he said, seemingly deep in thought. “But what about Evyrdae? That seems to do the trick.”

 

She shook her head, “Evyrdae is fine. It’ll give you a good 24 hours of energy under normal circumstances. But what I’m working on will help people recover more quickly, from, say, a sleep spell.”

 

Beardwood raised an eyebrow, “From sleeping spells, you say?”

 

“Yes, for instance, someone who drank this elixir could recover from somneron in under a minute.”

 

“Great Galt!” he said, sitting up straight. “Under a minute?”

 

“Yes!” she said. She was definitely grinning.

 

“And you’re only in your 25th revolution?” he said, seemingly astounded. “The rumors about you are true, then. I should have known, for someone so young to be wearing that,” he pointed at her bronze chain.

 

She put her hand up to the chain and tried not to blush. “Oh, I was very lucky that Professor Baines retired when she did. She was very kind to me and always generous with her good advice.” 

 

“Still, you need skill and talent to get through the interviews,” he said.

 

“I was fortunate to have a great education,” she said, still resisting the blush. He seems genuine. He could be a good ally. Maybe, if I have him mentor me, I can achieve a silver chain in three, four years?

 

“Let me ask you something,” he said, leaning back once more. “Someone as gifted as you—why not pursue studies in a field in which Weirhaven is more highly regarded? Psychic arts, for instance?”

 

Meleri laughed, “Oh, I was never very good at the psychic arts. I mean, I got fine grades. But it was definitely one of my weaker subjects.”

 

“You don’t say?” he said. “I find that surprising.”

 

She shrugged, “I always found alchemy more interesting.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, flashing his toothy grin. “You’ve been very helpful.”

 

A puzzled look came across Meleri’s face. “I’ve been helpful? I’m not sure I understand.”

 

He slowly reached his hand into his pocket. “I needed to know whether you were skilled at psionics. Now I know.”

 

“Profess—Brython, I’m not sure how that’s relevant to my position.” What is he talking about?

 

Without warning, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at her face.

 

Meleri barely had a moment to process the movement, let alone reach for her wand, before he said “Exaixos.”

 

Meleri’s had been a face of confusion—a furrowed brow, a perplexed gaze. And she was the type of person that, when she decided to focus on something, she focused on it with all her might. That, Beardwood was sure of. But then, as the spell's magic took hold, a subtle shift occurred. The furrows on her forehead smoothed out, and Meleri’s eyes, once filled with bewilderment, became vacant, like windows to a deserted house. The light of recognition faded, leaving behind a blank canvas where emotions once resided. The lines of perplexity vanished, replaced by an eerie emptiness.

 

Beardwood smiled and shook his head. “Well, well, Professor Pixton, you weren’t lying. I don’t think I even need to use kleiseron noos on you. You may have a chain around your neck, but you’re not even a middling psionic.”

 

Meleri didn’t respond. She just stared forward, motionless.

 

“I suspected as much. Anyone who earns a chain in their 25th revolution must be truly devoted to their craft at the expense of everything else. And that, my dear, is why I picked you.”   

 

Beardwood stood up and began pacing slowly around the small workshop. Meleri remained seated, staring into nothingness.

 

 “Are you listening to me, Meleri?” he asked, brushing his fingers along her desk.

 

A pause, then, “Yes.”

 

“Good. At this point, you’ll be unsurprised to hear—if you could even process what I’m saying—that I am behind Bedelia Ecclestone’s disappearance.”

 

Meleri didn’t react.

 

“The Tree of the Harvest is currently feeding on Bedelia’s magical essence. Yes, it’s quite happy with her. You’ll have the same fate, I’m afraid. Eventually. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I need you to do something for me first.” As he paced, he peered into one of her cabinets, examining the different sized flasks inside.

 

“I need you to pay special attention to your first-year classes. First-year students are best, least likely to be able to fight back. The Tree of the Harvest prefers psionics, yes, but more experienced students could pose issues for me.”

 

He walked behind Meleri, placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling the texture of her sage-green robes, and leaned down by her right ear.

 

“I want you to take note of any particularly bright first-years. When you have names ready, I want you to stay in your workshop late, just like tonight,” he whispered in her ear. “Place a green-flame candle in the window, that’s how I’ll know to come in. Do you understand?”

 

A moment passed, then, “Yes.”

 

“You will do this all subconsciously, unaware that you’re doing my bidding. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good,” he said, standing upright again. “While I’m sure I made your night by gracing you with my presence, I’m afraid I’ll have to erase your memories of the past twenty minutes.”

 

He walked back around her desk so that he was facing her once more. “Terribly sorry. But we’ll meet again, don’t you worry.”

 

Holding his wand in his right hand, he pressed the tip of it against Meleri’s forehead. He then raised his left hand and placed his palm on top of her head, almost massaging her scalp. He closed his eyes.

 

“Epilanthos.”

 

Meleri’s eyes, previously open in a blank stare, began to flutter rapidly. Her jaw went totally slack, yawning wide. Beardwood’s eyes remained shut, his left palm on her head and his right hand holding the tip of his wand against her forehead. He remained this way for about thirty seconds, Meleri’s eyes fluttering away the whole time.

 

Finally, Beardwood abruptly pulled his wand away and released her head. Meleri slowly slumped forward until her head rested on her desk.

 

“I’ve only got about a minute until you come to. I’d better be off,” he said, turning towards the door.

 

As he opened the door and took a step out, he paused and turned back to the sleeping professor.

 

“Don’t worry, Professor Pixton. We’ll talk again soon. Very soon.”

 

Then he turned and stepped into the dark, empty hallway, his robes rippling behind him.

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“Hey, Pedr, looks what Trystan got in his mail!”

 

Bedwyr tossed the small red bear across the dormitory to Pedr, managing to avoid Trystan’s outstretched hands.

 

“Did the Duke send you that himself, Trystan?” asked Bedwyr, laughing as he said it.

 

“Don’t be silly,” said Trystan, his blue eyes flashing underneath his blonde hair. “My little sister sent it.”

 

“Morien Martyn, eh?” said Bedwyr, leaping to catch the red bear that Pedr had just thrown back. “What I wouldn’t do to have a go at her.”

 

“You’re disgusting.”

 

“Morien might not think so,” Bedwyr said, tossing it back to Pedr. “Why a red bear, anyway? I’ve never seen a red bear in all my life.”

 

 “They used to be common in the Duchy of Ysros. You’d know this if you ever read a book, you dolt.”

 

“My, my, I think we’ve upset the Marquess of Ysros. Better apologize before we get thrown into Caermord, Pedr!”

 

“I think I could be a good Duke,” said Pedr, tossing the bear back to Bedwyr.

 

“Too bad you’ve not got noble blood like Trystan here,” said Bedwyr, catching it. “All you’ll ever be is the Duke of Limbs.”

 

It was a fair title. Neither Bedwyr nor Trystan were short, but Pedr stood a head above both of them. He somehow managed to be skinner than them, too. His red hair was cropped short and his green eyes were friendly.

 

“I must be a lucky fellow,” Bedwyr went on, “rooming with the Duke of Limbs and the future Duke of Ysros.”

 

“You know I’m the second son,” Trystan moaned, as if he were tired of having to constantly remind him. “And, besides, your father owns half of Swefnwicc. Would you like to charge me rent for this dorm room?”

 

“I’d never think of it,” Bedwyr said, bowing so low his head nearly touched the ground. “Apologies, my lord.”

 

Trystan shook his head, walked over to his bed, and sat down.

 

With Trystan no longer trying to grab the bear from them, Pedr quickly lost interest in the stuffed animal. “Hey, when are we leaving for the Flying Goat?”

 

“No time like the present,” said Bedwyr. “I’ve heard a good crowd of Weirhaven wenches are going tonight. Should be easy pickings.”

 

“You say that every weekend,” said Trystan. “And yet I’ve never seen you bring any girls back here.”

 

Bedwyr's face scrunched up, and Trystan was pleased to see he'd struck a nerve. “That’s because they bring me back to Weirhaven. I prefer it that way, easier to leave when I’m done.”

 

“Good luck going back to Weirhaven tonight. I’ve heard security is tight, what with that girl disappearing and all.”

 

“That’s only the half of it,” said Bedwyr. “Did you hear about Rhae Wygold showing up to Flying Goat last week in an absolute state? I’ve got half a mind to write to the Eorl of Knollys myself and let him know that his daughter’s a proper wineskin.”

 

“I’ve heard Weirhaven suspects foul play.”

 

“Easier to suspect foul play than to admit they’ve lost control of their first-years. But I don’t mind. Like I said: easy pickings.”

 

“Whatever,” Trystan muttered. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

 

The sun had not yet set when Bedwyr, Pedr, and Trystan exited their dormitory. Due to the earlier acceptance of wizardry in Tywyll Noeth, Druicraeft, as an official institution, was technically older than Weirhaven. As such, Druicraeft's campus was located closer to Swefnwicc’s city center. In fact, Weirhaven students often had to walk through Druicraeft’s campus to get into the city.

 

As luck would have it, three witches had just walked past their dormitory when the boys stepped out.

 

“Would you take a look at that witch!” Bedwyr whispered. “She might be taller than you, Pedr!”

 

Bedwyr was pointing at a blonde student that had her hair tied in braids. She wore a navy blue hat and robes and was flanked by a brunette wearing gray and a redhead wearing green. She was at least one head taller than the brunette and two heads taller than the redhead.

 

“She is tall,” Pedr whispered back, mesmerized.

 

“You think they’re first-years?” Bedwyr asked. They were walking about twenty paces behind the three girls.

 

“And why would that matter?” asked Trystan.

 

“No reason,” said Bedwyr, continuing to ogle the girl. He then seemed to snap out of it. “Hey, Trystan, you’re always telling me I don’t study enough. But I’ve been meaning to show you a new spell I’ve mastered.”

 

“Is that right?” Trystan raised an eyebrow.

 

“Watch this,” Bedwyr said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wand. He pointed it at the back of the blonde and whispered, “Eigere Stolos!”

 

“Are you insane?” whispered Trystan, horrified, as the bottom of the blonde’s navy-blue robes began to float upwards. Inch after inch began to climb up her calves, past her knees, and up her thighs.

 

“Stop it!” said Trystan. “She’s going to realize!”

 

Her robes continued to rise until they were well above her ass. Her modesty was protected somewhat by the thin linen chemise she wore underneath, which fell to her mid-thigh. But the setting sun cast a light through the chemise that made it fairly see-through.

 

“Woah,” said Pedr, smiling as if he just had eaten a particularly tasty treat.

 

The girls were deep in conversation, and none of them had noticed the blonde’s wardrobe situation just yet. And they were getting close to downtown.

 

Suddenly the redhead glanced down at the blonde’s robes. Then she yelled, loud enough for the boys to hear, “Alys! Look!”

 

The blonde looked down at her floating robes, which by this point were at her stomach, and screamed. She quickly tried to push them back down, but wherever her hands weren’t pressing the robes continued to float languidly in the air.

 

It was then that the redhead turned and caught sight of them. She glanced from one boy to the other, until her eyes became fixed on the wand in Bedwyr’s hand.

 

“It’s them doing it! They’ve cast a spell!”

 

The three girls turned around to face them. Bedwyr quickly stashed his wand back in his pocket and tried to act innocent. His wand now concealed, the blonde’s robes finally fell back down to her calves.

 

“I saw his wand out, I swear!”

 

The blonde’s face was bright red. The brunette took a step forward.

 

“What do you have to say for yourselves?”

 

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” said Bedwyr.

 

The redhead pulled her own wand out now. “I saw you. Don’t lie.”

 

“Please,” said Trystan, stepping in front of Bedwyr. “My… friend was trying to practice his levitation spells…” he pointed to a pinecone that sat on the path halfway between the two groups. “Clearly, he needs more practice.”

 

“You’re sick,” said the redhead. “I ought to hex the three of you right here.”

 

“As if you could manage that,” Bedwyr snorted.

 

“What did he say?”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Trystan continued, raising his hands. “We’re just on our way to the Flying Goat. There’ll be a round on us when we get there. Okay?”

 

“We don’t want your drinks,” the redhead said, her wand still raised.

 

Finding no solace in the redhead and too embarrassed to look at the blonde, Trystan looked over at the brunette for the first time. She had long curly hair and big brown eyes. There was a subdued elegance to her. Trystan caught himself staring, he wasn’t sure how long. She stared back at him. For a split second, he thought he saw her crack a smile.

 

The moment, however long it had lasted, was interrupted by the blonde. “Mair,” she whispered, reaching out and lowering the redhead’s wand. The blonde was staring, wide-eyed, at Trystan’s chest. The redhead looked up at the blonde, confused, then saw she was staring and followed her gaze to his chest as well.

 

Trystan thought he heard her utter a soft, “Oh,” before quickly stashing her wand.

 

“Sorry for the trouble,” the blonde said before turning back around.

 

Trystan looked over at the brunette once more. She hadn’t seemed to notice whatever the blonde and redhead had. She cast one last long look at Trystan, tried to hide a smile, and turned around. The three girls began walking away briskly.

 

“Well,” said Bedwyr, relaxing a bit. “That was fun.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” Trystan sighed. He looked up at the setting sun and breathed in the autumn air. He looked behind them and saw three witches dressed in black coming up the path.

 

“Come on, let’s go.”

 

The boys set off on foot once again. Pedr, who already seemed to have forgotten the past five minutes, began whistling softly. Bedwyr, too, was in a good mood again. He slung his right arm around Trystan’s shoulders and used his left hand to pat Trystan’s chest.

 

“Thank goodness for this, eh?”

 

“Shut up,” said Trystan.

 

Bedwyr shrugged and released him, turning to Pedr instead. And there, where his left hand had been, shining in the dying sunlight, was a golden brooch shaped like a bear.