Thistle and Stone [Chaennie]

Chapter 18

LOSS

Jennie stared at the notes in front of her. She flipped through them, shuffled them around, rearranged them over and over. Beside the papers, her fingers quietly ran over the grooves of her kitchen table. The feel of worn wood against her skin was grounding, a reminder she was safe, that she was home. That morning, she had thrown open her windows as wide as they'd go, letting the damp air fill each room. The cold set her teeth on edge but the chill kept her awake, the heavy autumn air on the cusp of winter clinging to the fabric of her curtains. Jisoo had been out the day before planting the tulip bulbs in the gardens that separated their homes and the earth outside the window looked loose and dark with fresh soil. Eunwoo had come by to help. He waved, called her over, and showed her their collection of bulbs, pointed towards the differences between what would become the single early tulips, the heavy-petalled parrot tulips, the grape hyacinths. Jennie nodded and asked a few questions and accepted Eunwoo's hearty hug and his gruffly whispered 'glad you're okay' before excusing herself back inside.

It had been a week now since she'd been home. Despite Lisa and Jisoo offering up their home for her to stay with them for as long as she needed, she felt the itch to be back in her own space. She convinced them to allow her to leave after promising to let them check in on her regularly, which wasn't exactly a struggle as neighbours. And after a few days of watching them together, a small part of her had to admit she wanted a bit of distance. Not due to self-pity, she'd remind herself, but maybe so she could stew in her own dejection just a little longer. Plus, she had work to do. All the research she had done on magical objects had sat collecting dust while the bond had taken over her life. But as she looked over her old notes and the outlines and chapters she had sketched up, she found her mind wandering. She'd stare at them before standing up, walking around her kitchen for a few minutes, putting the tea on. On more than one occasion she'd forget altogether the kettle had been on the first place.

It was the evenings that were the hardest. She knew any number of her friends would host her in a heartbeat, but she couldn't pull herself together to ask. More than anything, Jennie didn't want to answer any of their questions. The light hurt her head, reading hurt her head, and she continually read the same line of her research over and over again until it was meaningless.

Feeling like her mind was elsewhere, she almost missed the sight of a small grey owl swooping towards her window ledge, its wings folding carefully as it waited for her to catch the window latch. An unassuming letter was clutched between its black beak and it chirped softly as she gently pulled it down. Her name was inked across the front in long and abrupt font.

"Just hold on," she muttered as she slid open the letter and pulled out a note, her eyes scanning the short message: Dear Ms. Kim, I do hope you'll join me for a short fire-call in just a few moments in your living room. Best, Unspeakable Croaker.

Jennie glanced up in alarm. A few moments? She turned abruptly towards the owl who hooted in return before ducking its head and taking back off across the yard. The sound of an incoming call filled her sitting room and she darted out of her kitchen in time to catch Croaker's face peering through her wood fireplace.

"Ms. Kim! So glad you could take my call, you're looking well," Croaker grinned.

"Er, yes, thank you," Jennie, bewildered, folded her arms across her chest. She silently hoped Croaker couldn't see the jam stain on her old Holyhead Harpies jumper. Lisa had given it to her as a Christmas gift years earlier, and it was perfectly stretched and worn in.

"Truly, Ms. Kim, it's good to see you at home. I don't want to, ah, mince my words here, so I suppose I should simply ask. Are you feeling ready to come in yet for testing, Ms. Kim?" Croaker's face shifted in the embers as he tilted his head, his brows furrowed in waiting.