The Headmaster’s office overlooked the staircase. With his door wide open, he could watch the comings and goings of all who lived in and owned the Sturmundrang. His door was currently closed to such distraction, as he filed away his daily record keeping. Clearing away the paperwork from the oak tabletop, he turned to the small shrine behind him and plucked up the iron goblet that sat between a steadily melting candle and coaster-sized wooden chopping block. The movement of the goblet just barely disturbed the griffin feather that lay behind the three items, rocking it ever so slightly before it settled back into its place.

Placing the goblet on his desk, the Headmaster pulled open one of the very bottom drawers and lifted free a box and tea infuser. Cracking open the box, the pungent smell of metal and herbs filled his nostrils as he stuffed the infuser full. Instead of slipping the infuser into the water straight away, the Headmaster turned towards the candle on his shrine. He held the leaves over the flame, those scents suddenly joined by the odor of ash as he set the infuser’s innards aflame. Only once a discernible amount of smoke rose up from the infuser did he turn back to the goblet. Dropping the tea of unknown ingredients into the goblet, he stirred the infuser slowly. The Headmaster watched the water grow darker and darker with each passing minute, ash and herbs blackening the fluid until he could no longer see the infuser clearly.

It was always fascinating to him, how tea from the gardens of Senara herself could turn clear water opaque. How he could never guess what she put in the tea to make it so powerful. No one was foolish enough to question the methods of the God of Life and Rebirth, least of all the Headmaster. His breath and shape were her creation, and to question her would be to question the life she’d bestowed upon him.

A long, haunting scratch sounded at his door. “Come in,” the Headmaster said, concentration of the stirring of the goblet thus far unbroken. There was a pause as oversized, padded fingers gripped the doorknob and turned, the door hushing open as those fingers dropped to the carpet and into the shape of a paw again. “It’s a wonder you don’t leave a mark on my door,” he said to the intruder without looking up. “I swear your claws get louder each day.”

“I know how to scratch without leaving a mark.” Macavity was fully capable of taking a much smaller, much more humanoid shape. Asking the giant wolf to do so was much more difficult than actually twisting his leg. The hulking, white frame of the beast took up almost the entirety of the Headmaster’s doorway, fur just narrowly missing the jamb as Macavity squeezed into the office partway. The wolf inhaled audibly, mouth opening as he breathed in the scents from the goblet. Scarred lips peeled back across pearly teeth. “She’s staying?” he growled.

“She hasn’t yet accepted the invitation if that’s what you mean.” The Headmaster lifted the goblet, placing it back on the shrine. Putting his back to Macavity, he focused on not spilling a single drop on the burgundy carpet.

“Why are you allowing her to stay?” Macavity’s lips continued to curl, more and more of those deadly bones baring to the room full of vulnerable wood and shelves of binders and documents. “She does not belong here.”

“A portal opened itself to her,” the Headmaster declared, undeterred by Macavity’s display. “That’s enough to warrant welcome.”

“She’s a-”

“Human. I’m aware.” The first of her kind in the Valley of the Dolls. “And from a realm of only humans, no less.” With the exception of ghosts and demons, all tethered to their plane and incapable of coming to his thankfully. He recalled leafing through an old book on that plane, one his own master had informed him about but had warned never to look for people from there. That universe was full of suffering and very little god light. There was almost zero hope anyone would come to the valley from there, and yet here was Eloise Cook. “She is a rarity to be sure.”

“Send her back.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” the Headmaster said, finally looking up at the wolf. Though Macavity’s eyes were clouded, the Headmaster knew he felt his gaze on him. “She sought refuge. The realm opened to her, and we are to receive her regardless of permanence.” The wolf’s nose twitched as he struggled to close his lips around teeth determined to tear. “I have a feeling she won’t want to return from whence she came anyhow.” Hence the preparation of the potion.

“You are fine with this, then. This,” Macavity growled, “anomaly.”

“I’m not a god.” Though some insisted on treating him as one. “I’m just the Headmaster of the Sturmundrang.”

“What if I said she was an unsafe disruption to the order of our manor?”

The Headmaster stood, blunt nails raking slightly against the desk he gripped too hard. “Then I’d say she’s within my borders now.” He ground his teeth, gnashing them in a way this jaw was not suited for. “And speaking of borders, how are yours?”

Macavity stood long and silent, trying and failing to put away his fangs. His hackles remained upright as he reported an utter lack of activity on his patrol, opting to leave the conversation at that. When he was done, he slid back out the doorway and towards the stairs. Once he was out of sight, the Headmaster blinked and the door to his office closed. Alone again, he took his seat.

He would adjourn for the night once the scents floating from the goblet stopped giving his stomach reason to churn.