Chapter 3

JACK

I groan as I enter the kitchen and realise it's a complete mess. I don't know which of my flatmates had a party last night, but whoever it was needs to learn how to clean up after themselves, this place is a total mess.

Though I know I was probably responsible for similar situations during Freshers Week. It feels like much longer than eight months ago, and it was like I was a totally different person. Mum was still sick, but she hadn't been actively dying yet.

I didn't know what death looked like.

I try to banish the memories, preferring to linger on moments where she'd been herself rather than the end. I pull out one of my mugs and start making a cup of tea despite the weather being a little too warm for it. Tea always makes everything better.

The door swings open just as I'm taking the teabag out, and Rupert strides in with his hair a mess.

"Have you just got up?" I ask the weasel shifter.

"Yep. My early morning lecture was cancelled."

"It's three in the afternoon."

He shrugs. "Ah, guess I missed my others then. What happened in here?"

"No idea."

He heads to the fridge and stares inside it as if food is going to spring into being, but he seems disappointed and shuts it again.

"I've got bread if you want toast." I gesture to my cupboard.

"Do you have jam as well?"

"You know I do."

"Thanks, mate." He hurries over and starts making himself some breakfast. "You're always the responsible one."

"Something like that," I murmur.

"How did your meeting go yesterday? I never got a chance to ask you."

My mind strays back to the grief support session yesterday. Rhea seemed to be a bit more comfortable compared to the week before, but I can tell she's still got a way to go. Which is fair, I was probably just as much of a mess a month after Mum died. "It was fine."

"You know you can tell me more than that," Rupert responds, pushing some of the empty cups out of the way so he can sit down at the shared table.

I go to join him but don't put my mug down for fear of getting it sticky. "I know," I assure him. The reality is that it's just not easy to talk about with people who don't understand what I'm going through.

"And what about your other problem?"

I sigh and take a sip of my tea. "What about it?"

"Have you managed to shift yet?"

"No." I don't know why I told him about the fact I'm having trouble turning into stone. Maybe because he's a shifter himself, I thought he might be able to give me pointers. Unfortunately, it didn't help.

"Have you tried asking a witch for a potion to help?" he suggests, crunching on his toast with an open mouth.

Mum would have chastised him for his table manners.

"I've tried a potion. It didn't work."

"I really thought that would," he responds.

I shrug. "Nope."

"It's a shame you don't know a gorgon."

"A gorgon?" I echo.

"Yeah, then they could turn you into stone and your problem would be solved," he says off-handedly.

I stare at him. "Do you think that would work?"

"No idea. But it's a moot point if you don't have a gorgon to ask."

"True." Except that I do have a gorgon I could ask. It's a bit unorthodox and I have no idea how she'll react, but to some extent, it has to be worth a try, especially when the alternative is that I have no access to magic that was working perfectly fine until recently.

But I suppose there's nothing I can do about that except keep trying to access my gargoyle side.

"What if I did have a gorgon to ask?"

Rupert's surprise is written all over his face. "You do?"

"Maybe."

"I mean, what's the harm in asking? If they say no, you drop it, but if they say yes, maybe your problem will be solved and that can be one less thing for you to worry about. Exams are coming up, it might be good to have that off your plate."

"Hmm, true." I pull out my phone and go to my chat with Rhea. Is this something I can just message her about? We haven't really chatted much outside of the grief support group, and I don't want to intrude.

And maybe please could you try to turn me into stone is a question best asked face-to-face so she knows I'm asking seriously and it isn't some weird chat-up line.

Hey, are you free to meet up for a drink tonight? Or maybe a coffee tomorrow? > My finger hovers over the send button for a second before I hit it. There's nothing wrong with asking if she wants to meet up, especially when I like her company. If it turns out that I don't think asking her is the right idea, then we can easily just talk about something else.

"Why are you staring at your phone so intensely?" Rupert pushes his plate away, empty save for a few crumbs.

"I'm asking the gorgon for help."

"Hopefully they give it."

"Mmm."

My screen lights up with a reply.

Sure. But my last lecture ends at five and I'm normally starving. >

The Red Phoenix has great chips. My treat? > I hit send, only realising after I do that it sounds kind of like I'm asking her on a date when I'm not. Then again, I'm suggesting going to the pub on campus, I doubt she thinks that's any kind of romantic.

Sounds good. I'll meet you there. >

I sigh with relief. At least she doesn't think me asking is weird. Or certainly, not weird enough for her to say she isn't interested.

"Good news from the gorgon?" my friend guesses.

I nod. "She's agreed to meet up, I'll ask her then."

He raises an eyebrow. "I didn't realise you knew a gorgon. Have you been on dating apps or something without me knowing?"

"I met her at grief support group," I respond.

"Oh." He looks down, seeming a little embarrassed about his comment. "Sorry."

I shrug. "It's fine. You weren't to know." And he has a point, I haven't exactly been open to meeting people lately.

"Well, I hope she says yes, even if it doesn't work."

"Me too." If I can actually ask her, because I have no idea how to make that conversation happen without sounding like an idiot.

I suppose I'll find out in a few hours.